


A Safe Haven

by Caiti (Caitriona_3)



Series: A Hobbit's Tale [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gen, Hobbit Children, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitriona_3/pseuds/Caiti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When danger comes to the Shire on the wind of frost, Bilbo must seek refuge for himself and those he has rescued.  Fortunately the Shire is not the only place to promise him haven.</p><p>(Please, please read notes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Notes for There & Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> My first Tolkien fic.
> 
>  **SPOILERS IN STORY!** (If you haven’t seen the movie, read the book, or been inundated with ‘what happened’ – you will get hit with some spoilers here.)
> 
> Also - I am playing merry havoc with canon details and dates, mixing book and movie ideas, adding some of my own, the birth dates of several characters have changed, and I am pretty much ignoring the canon deaths of BotFA because none of the above exactly fit with my story idea. The story went the same basic way as the movies – except for those deaths that I’m not acknowledging. (Also – I have not yet seen Peter Jackson’s version of BotFA, so I am mixing from the book and online spoilers/investigations.) At the start of this story – Frodo is 8, Sam is 9, Merry is 5, Pippin is 3, and Rosie is 7. I know – given how I’ve messed with time lines – Bilbo is probably too old to be taking care of a kid, but since he was still going strong at 111, I figured it would do for my story. (I’m tossing it in the same barrel as the use of Peter Jackson’s age for Thorin – decidedly a younger dwarf than Tolkien’s. Go with me on this.) This story takes place fifty years after “An Unexpected Journey” and twenty-six years or so before Fellowship would begin. (Should I ever get it all together, I will put a timeline in here somewhere and you can laugh yourself silly at how much I’ve rearranged things. Hopefully the good Professor will be too amused at my audacity to be unhappy with me.)
> 
>  
> 
> **If you want canon – this is NOT the place to be. May I direct you to some lovely work done by a most respectable author under the name of J.R.R. Tolkien? Trust me – you’ll love his work.**
> 
>  
> 
> I apologize up front for the "redundancy" of the prologue, but I wanted to set the scene and this was the easiest way to do it.

_The following account has been transcribed from a rough set of notes left in the personal journal of a witness to the momentous events described therein:_

I am sitting here in my study at Bag End as I make these notes, and I must say I am not quite sure about writing all of this down at all. Few, if any, of my fellow Hobbits will have any desire to read it. Fewer than that would have it read by future generations for fear it might stir such Tookish behavior in the children. Might do them some good…ah well…we cannot all be adventuresome I suppose. Of the other races of Free Peoples…well, the Dwarves will no doubt turn the story into one of their songs while the Elves have probably already written an account. The Men – those involved at any rate – have likely done the same. I cannot see why the writings of one lone Hobbit would do much to add to these tales.

And yet…

Something seems to be pushing at me, almost demanding these things be put down in writing. I suppose it would not hurt to have a humble little addition to add to the works of others. Right then – best begin at the beginning. These are just rough notes as I attempt to organize my thoughts. I shall write something much more appropriate to such a story as I found myself witness to in the future, but I should at least have a notion of what I wish to write and how to go about it. While I have quite learned to enjoy unexpected surprises, I dislike leaving such an important task to chance. So – hmm. I will have to tell some of Hobbits and of my family, but that is easily done at any time. I doubt I should have any difficulty remembering those details, so let me concentrate on my adventure.

Gandalf the Grey, the Wandering Wizard about whom Hobbits know little save his excellent fireworks and who is known to the Dwarves as Tharkûn and to the Elves as Mithrandir, appeared at Bag End one fine morning and began to play a word game when I merely wished him a ‘Good Morning’ as any polite fellow would. I should have known then that trouble would come of the whole affair, but I am grateful to note now that I did not realize my peril. If I had, I might have changed everything and become one of the stuffy, disapproving sort who frowns at the youngsters exploring beyond their families’ gardens. 

Perish the thought.

Gandalf sought an adventurer, and I quite firmly told him to seek elsewhere. The fellow ignored me entirely – though I did not realize that at the time – and carved a symbol into my front door. (I must still call him to task on that. Imagine – scratching up a perfectly good coat of paint.) Little did I know that symbol would draw guests to my door – guests I was woefully unprepared for, mind you. Do you have any idea how much hungry Dwarves can eat at one sitting? I might compare them to a pack of young Hobbits who missed elevenses. 

Thus did I meet the Company with whom I would share such an astonishing adventure – though I knew nothing of this at that moment – and I learned their leader was not yet present.

Twelve Dwarves took up quite a bit of space and they did seem to enjoy making me nervous with their casual treatment of my mother’s West Farthing pottery. I must admit I was not at my best that evening – the unexpected party put me out of sorts though I did try to cling to my Baggins sensibility and manners. They sang a rather energetic song as they cleared up the table, but I scarcely allowed myself to enjoy it as I watched the dishes go flying through the air. Not a one was dropped or chipped, but I was almost beside myself with the anxiety of the entire affair. Then, just as they finished, came yet another knock on my door. 

It signaled the arrival of the leader of the Dwarves – the one known as Thorin Oakenshield

I shall have to think long and hard of how to describe this Dwarf. Our relations at the beginning cannot be called cordial by any stretch of the imagination, though I did my best to remain as polite as possible. Our relationship would change many times as we traveled across Middle Earth and faced a truly ridiculous series of events until we reached… But no, let me not get the cart before the horse as it were. I must stay focused if I am to do this at all.

The Dwarves explained their quest and their desire to have me along as a burglar. Honestly, a burglar! I have never stolen so much as a piece of fruit in my life and they are wanting me to burgle from a dragon. The very idea! I do admit to having a weak spell, but who would not when faced with such a demand – as well as a somewhat florid description of the possible fate of the burglar in question? I could not quite accept the whole thing and went to sleep on the matter. When I woke the next morning I found my home put entirely to rights, spic and span as I had not expected from such a rough company, and the Dwarves gone. 

Something kindled in me – whether it was my Tookish blood out for adventure, my temper at being so summarily dismissed, my instinct to help them win back their home, or some combination of the three, I cannot say, but it burst into flame when I saw the contract left behind on the table. Out the door I ran, most un-Baggins-like, in order to chase them down and offer my services. I do acknowledge that I may or may not have been entirely in my right mind at that moment, but once I gave my word, I could not and would not turn back, regardless of the provocation. Well…except at one very low point during the journey, but that got interrupted and it did not happen, so I shall think no more on it.

Such things I experienced after leaving Hobbiton! Trolls, Wizards, Elves, Goblins, a most unusual creature named Gollum (I am not sure exactly what he was)…I shall write much more extensively about those in whatever form my memoirs take as there is no forgetting the details of such interactions. I should note that I received a short Elven blade named Sting and a magic ring during all of these escapades.

I grew to know my company as well. Thorin, the grim leader of our company; his nephews, the irrepressible Fili and Kili; Bofur, the optimistic one of the bunch; Ori, the shy scribe; Balin, Thorin’s advisor; Dwalin, his loyal captain; Óin, the stubborn healer; quiet Bombur (who might fit in well with many Hobbits given his love of food and peace); the gruff Glóin; Nori, crafty and watchful – mind your pockets; the fussy Dori who tended to mother anyone who would let him; and Bifur, who possessed a mercurial temper which I am told was caused by the axe embedded in his head. A most unusual group to be sure.

While a few of my companions had been kind, friendly even, the real turning point came during our attempt to escape from a pack of Orcs and Wargs. We ran, somewhat heedless of our direction, as they pursued. We found ourselves at the edge of a cliff – and nowhere left to run. It was at this time I killed for the first time – mostly by accident – a Warg who appeared to have every intention of making me his supper. I was not inclined to accept such a fate, but did not see a way to avoid it. I stuck Sting out in front of me and by some stroke of good luck the Warg impaled himself upon it. Things became even more chaotic as we escaped up into the trees only to have to jump to the next tree as tree after tree fell like a child’s building blocks until our entire company sheltered in one final tree on the very edge of the cliff side.

The Wargs were driven back with pinecones set alight by Gandalf, but this last tree too began to teeter, its roots starting to pull free from the ground. Thorin, either attempting a last attempt to clear a path or choosing his own death through fighting, strode out to meet the leader of the Orcs – a creature I later learned was named Azog against whom Thorin held great enmity. Azog and his white Warg proved too much for our leader. As Thorin lay defenseless, Azog sent another in to kill him. The Dwarves around me struggled, trying to raise themselves up to go to Thorin’s rescue, but their solid weight plus their armor made it difficult. 

I was not so burdened.

I do not know what came over me – I knew I had no chance against one Orc, let alone such numbers – but I could not remain still and do nothing as Thorin’s family watched him die. So drawing Sting once more I cast myself against the Orc clearly intending to behead Thorin. I managed to kill him – probably due to surprise – and planted myself between Thorin and the remaining Orcs, waving Sting as a youngster might wave a candle at the darkness. I faced my death that day – I know I did. I might have had some rash hope of survival, but the rest of me waited for the death blow. Fate, it seems, had other plans for me. Rescue came – Kili, Fili, and Dwalin managed to get out of the tree and charged into battle. Even such would not have been enough to win the day, however, but it bought time for another rescue, a rescue even our wildest dreams could not have expected.

The eagles – Great Eagles – arrived.

They fought the Orcs and Wargs, dropping them from great heights, before plucking all of our company off of the cliff and bearing us away to safety. This is where things changed – Thorin acknowledged my place in the company, going so far as to apologize for doubting me. Well, that was just rubbish – I am not a hero or a warrior or even a burglar, Gandalf’s designs aside. I would have doubted me, so I could hardly fault him for doing the same!

And thus our travels continued, but with a marked difference in the company – we seemed to be much more tightly bound than before. Perhaps there is something to be said for the bonds brought by danger and sharing such trust. Then we met Beorn – a Skin-changer – and then Gandalf left us just before we entered Mirkwood. 

Never again shall I scoff at the fear of spiders.

As I am shuddering in remembrance, I think I shall wait the full telling and move on. Mirkwood also held the hall of the Elven king, Thranduil, who seemed to me an overly proud being, but also shrouded by melancholy, making it difficult to judge. I could not take the time to consider further as I needed to find my company who had been taken captive by the Woodland Elves. My magic ring spared me such a fate and I used it to find a way out for all of us – though no doubt my companions would have much preferred a different way. Journey by barrel down a rapid-filled river pursued by Orcs will never be a popular mode of travel, I fear. 

It was made all the worse by Kili’s injury – an Orc shot him in the thigh and the arrow possessed some form of poison as we later discovered.

We did manage to escape however and we met a Man by the name of Bard. He took us to Laketown and we spent a bit of time there before moving on towards Erebor. Kili became too ill to travel, and remained behind with his brother as well as Óin and Bofur. The parting of the Company felt wrong, but given the time limit – we had little choice. 

I do wonder if Thorin might have been too easily parted from his nephews – in case something happened with Smaug his immediate family would be safe. 

We found the secret door and in I went to find a stone hidden in a dragon’s hoard. Yes, I believe I had completely taken leave of my senses at that point. And of course – I woke him up. It is terribly disturbing to be chased by a dragon – disturbing, frightening, terrifying…many more descriptive words that I shall spare my hand the pain of writing. The Dwarves followed me into the mountain – for which I was grateful as it meant I was no longer alone – and Thorin came up with the idea of lighting the forges, or to be more precise, to taunt the dragon into lighting them. Not a single one of us possessed any common sense – or we had thrown it merrily out the window – and so we tried it. We almost seemed to drown Smaug in molten gold, but he shook it off and flew towards Laketown, promising vengeance against the people there for helping us. One line repeated in my mind over and over again until I could not help but utter it aloud as I watched the fire drake speed away on the wind.

“What have we done?”

Smaug…he attacked the town and fires began to burn. We could only look on in fear – what of the members of our Company? What of Bard and his family? All of those innocents….

Then Smaug faltered and fell.

Later I learned how Bard managed to use one of the prized Black Arrows to bring down the fire drake. The people of Laketown sought refuge in the ruins of Dale even as our four Companions returned to join us. Unfortunately I had to inform them of the bad news – Thorin had become infected with some kind of sickness….dragon-sickness. He continued a frantic search for the Arkenstone…though I had it hidden from him. I hid it from all of them for fear of what might happen should Thorin get the stone. In his sickness, Thorin refused to aid Bard and the people of Laketown – he would not even enter negotiations, choosing instead to send for his cousin’s army.

Would there be yet another tragedy this day?

I could not bear it and tried to find a way to bring peace. After seeing Gandalf in Dale, I snuck away from my Companions and took the Arkenstone to Bard and Thranduil that they might use it in order to force Thorin to talk to them. Then I returned to the Company – my actions might be seen as a betrayal, but I would not desert them. When Man and Elf offered the stone for gold, Thorin realized what I had done.

He threatened to kill me.

Only then I think did some realize how deeply sick Thorin had become. Gandalf saved me, but I was banished – banished from those I had come to see as family. While I trusted the Wizard would see me safe, my heart hammered and quaked within me. Would I see any of them again? And would our bonds still be there or were they now irreparably broken?

Dain arrived with a Dwarven army; three armies faced each other.

Then came the news – another army, a fourth army approached – this one made up of Orcs, Wargs, Goblins, and who knew what all else.

I will have to do some research and correspondence if I am to write much about the battle. I was there when it began of course, but I followed Tauriel and Legolas to warn the Dwarves of Erebor about the coming army. Magic ring or no, I managed to get a knock on the head and did not wake up until after everything ended. Seeing what I saw…I can only be glad I missed the majority of it. Battle and war are horrible things – necessary from time to time, yes – but still…they are horrible. Never shall I forget the sights and the sounds and the smells of war.

Never would I wish it on anyone save only in direst days when all other options have proven incapable of solving the problem.

Many stories were told of the battle and its varied fighters – Men, Elves, and Dwarves – both from the Iron Hills and from Erebor after Thorin broke free of his madness. The Giant Eagles and Beorn joined the fray as well. Four armies faced off against the army of darkness. A battle of five armies waged on the slopes Erebor and its surrounding area. So much destruction and death…so much…

I can only find comfort in knowing all I loved survived. We feared we would lose Thorin and both of the boys, so great was their hurt, but Elven healers worked wonders. Somehow, somehow beyond all expectations the quest for Erebor succeeded and the Company remained intact. Mostly. One issue remained – Thorin and the dragon-sickness…although he recovered enough to come out and fight, still questions hovered over us. How had Thorin succumbed so quickly to the gold? It had taken his grandfather years. Gandalf explained how the darkness of Smaug and his power seeped into the gold. And yet…even he found it difficult to understand the speed of Thorin’s downfall. There had been other reasons, he said, other things which contributed to Thror’s instability.

Not that he bothered to explain what the other reasons might be, but that’s Gandalf for you.

Then he went in and looked at the gold and I watched as his brows drew together in a formidable scowl. “Magic!” he grumbled. “The dragon was in league with the necromancer and the spells target those of Thrain’s bloodline. So that is why…” His voice trailed off and I never did learn what that meant. I asked, of course, but he would say no more. He only insisted the gold be sent off or away as fast as it could be…the gold of the hoard, not the stuff as yet unmined. Good thing he explained that bit – the others grew anxious about his meaning and muttered and mumbled under their breath. They agreed, however reluctantly, to do as he instructed. 

Thorin met with all of us while still in his sickbed – to tender his regrets and offer any compensation we might ask. It was a good gesture – and then he ordered the gold hoard to be spent and sent out for all the needs of Erebor and Dale…an even better gesture.

We were reconciled and my banishment lifted. Indeed, more than that, Thorin named me Dwarf-friend and gave me the right to call Erebor home as well as the Shire. I think often of returning there - I miss my friends and I would like to see those places again as they must now be – rebuilt and restored. Perhaps a holiday?

Though for now a holiday must wait. I have taken in my young cousin, Frodo, the son of Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck – two of my favorite relatives. Poor lad is six years old, practically a baby, but with his parents now gone…

And folks wonder why Hobbits frown on boats.

Yes, perhaps when Frodo is older we might go east – I would like to introduce him to my friends. They would like the youngster I think.

_Thus was the tale of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield written in the private notes of Bilbo Baggins, Dwarf-friend and one of the heroes of Wilderland. Sketchy as these notes are, one can see the main story line that would later fill the pages of the Red Book of Westmarch._


	2. A Hint of Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hints of trouble hidden in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we get to the main story!

Bilbo Baggins, the Baggins of Bag End, sighed in contentment as he sat down on his chair next to the fireplace and propped his feet up on a small ottoman. Although he spent most of the day indoors writing notes for some future memoir people seemed to want him to write, it felt as though he spent a full day in the garden. Who knew mere notes could be quite so tiring? Still he thought he made a good start, getting the basic outline of his adventure down on paper. The details would come later as he refined his work. Already he could see it much like his garden – the seeds had been planted; now he needed to tend it, weeding and pruning until the final form took shape and bloomed. Then he could share it with the others.

And he would spare no one, least of all himself, in the telling – he made that silent promise to himself.

The story he wrote would be complete, including all of the high and low points of each member. No matter what, even when the words painted him in a bad light, he felt that if he was going to accept this charge – the charge of writing a history of his journey and all of the events he found himself witnessing – then he would write the truth. This, he knew, would be the only way the youngsters could learn from their successes and their failures. It would be his gift to them – the future children of all the Free Peoples. After all, were they not the hope of each race?

Speaking of hope and the future…

He smiled at the group of children gathered around on the floor, preparing for a new game. Like most Hobbits, Bilbo possessed a deep and abiding affection for children. Adopting his nephew Frodo proved to be one of his best ideas ever. It meant Bag End rang with laughter once more as childish chortles and giggles would float through the air each day. The Hobbit hole had been built with that in mind – his parents hoped for several children and his father designed everything based on that. Alas – it was not to be. Still, it did mean he could welcome a number of youngsters for tea without fearing where he put his feet.

Frodo sat on the floor closest to Bilbo, his delicate, almost Elvish features in stark contrast to his current game partner Samwise Gamgee, better known as Sam. Sam possessed a broader build and an earthier look about him than the others. Of all four, he seemed to be the most Hobbit-like, though his stubbornness would not have been out of place with some Dwarves Bilbo knew. Two more Hobbits, the youngest two, rounded out the set – Meriadoc Brandybuck, generally called Merry, and Peregrin Took, usually known as Pippin. Both of them Hobbit through and through, but sometimes Bilbo thought he glimpsed a hint or a flash of the same fire and steel he remembered from Bard and many of the Dunedain rangers…

He caught himself and shook his head in amusement at his own fancies. Such woolgathering he seemed to be doing. These children would no doubt live out quiet Hobbit lives here in the Shire and his stories would remain just that – fireside-tales and children’s stories. They did not need his observations getting in the way – not to mention Merry and Pippin did not need any encouragement to cause additional mischief. And really, they were much too young for such fancies right now. Not one of them had passed their tenth year, and tiny Pippin was barely three years of age.

The sound of the wind drew his attention to the far window.

Bilbo frowned at the frost on it. This winter seemed to be worse than most, coming too early and the cold biting too deeply. The frost patterns might be pretty for the young Hobbits and they might be enjoying the extra snow, but the elders – those of Bilbo’s generation and older – remembered another early winter…the Fell Winter of 1311 (as dated by Shire-reckoning, or Third Age 2911 according to the calendars of Men). Bilbo’s nose twitched with amusement – he might be the only Hobbit who bothered to remember that kind of detail.

The Fell Winter though… He remembered it, though he’d barely been in his tweens – only twenty-one at the time and still twelve years from reaching his maturity. Winter encased them then as well, to the point of freezing the Brandywine River. Howling could still raise the hair on his toes, though sometimes he could not quite decide if that was due to his memories of the white wolves or the wargs. 

“My Da says the river’ll freeze.”

Bilbo turned his eyes from the window to the boys at the light voice. He found Merry’s blue-grey eyes smiling at him. “Does he now, young Merry?” Bilbo replied, letting interest paint his voice. He did his best to keep any concern or anxiety out of his tone. There was no reason to scare the lad. “What else does your Da say?”

“He says it’s too cold,” Merry told him. “He had Ma and the others clean out the cellars. Said it was for just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Sam asked, but Merry could only shrug.

“Never you mind, young Sam,” Bilbo told the serious youngster. “The Master of Buckland just likes to be prepared.” He pointed at the boys, giving his finger a light shake. “Remember, prepare for the worst and it almost never happens.” All four nodded at him, even the little three year old Pippin – though Bilbo doubted he understood the idea behind the words. Still – it was never too early to teach youngsters the hard-earned wisdom of their elders. He gave them a bright smile. “Now, boys, before you go back to your game, there’s a persimmon pastry for each of you in the pantry.”

Four boys cheered and dashed into the kitchen. Bilbo managed to keep the smile on his face until the last little bare foot disappeared out the door…then his expression became grave. If Rory Brandybuck cleaned out the cellars Bilbo suspected, then that meant he recognized the same signs. The Shire would need to start keeping sharper eyes on the borders. Such drastic weather would make watching them much more difficult, regardless of how much effort the Bounders and the Dunedain put into keeping the land of the Hobbits safe.

Most of the Hobbits tended to ignore the world outside of the Shire, but Bilbo knew better – he knew how quickly things could go wrong should their defenses fail. He knew what lurked in the dark beyond their borders…and he could only hope the children would never find out.

Though it might do some of the adults around here good if they understood how protected they… No, Bilbo sighed to himself, no. That was not the way to think about it. While it might make them more understanding, it might also ruin this bright patch of sunlight and color on the map of Middle Earth. They too had a place in the tapestry of this wide world – the Elves with their deep wisdom, the Men with their fiery drive, and the Dwarves with their passionate endurance – surely all of them needed the cheerful innocence of the Shire as well.

Even when that innocence turned into a smug certainty of its own rightness.

Bilbo remembered the looks and the whispers he received when he returned home from Erebor. The stares started the moment he crossed over into the East Farthing and they only gathered steam as he reached Hobbiton. His mere return proved more than enough to get the gossips and tale spinners going – though the gratitude of all of Bagshot Row must be acknowledged since his return prevented them from suffering with Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins as neighbors. Even more than the fact of his return, the **way** he returned drew almost as much attention. 

For Bilbo returned home with an escort fit for a hero.

He tried protesting, but found it difficult to argue with thirteen Dwarves, a handful of Elves, and one stubborn Man and his family, not to mention a rather gruff Wizard and an insistent Skin-changer. Thus it was that this unassuming Hobbit returned home in a cart driven by Dwarves and escorted by a pair of Elves as well as Gandalf the Wizard. 

The elder Hobbits shook their heads and declared how it must be his Took blood becoming much too evident – it seemed ready to eclipse his Baggins steadiness. 

“This is what happens when wizards stir up trouble,” old Halfred Greenhand informed everyone at the Green Dragon. “Respectable Hobbits get all muddled up and become ‘adventuresome’.” His face scrunched up in unhappy distress. “Much as I hate to use that kind of word to describe any Hobbit, let alone a Baggins.”

“It means trouble,” Granny Diggle agreed. “You’ll see.”

Time passed…and no trouble came.

That did not mean Bilbo returned to his pre-journey level of respectability. He would host all manner of guests at Bag End – Elves, Men, Dwarves – particularly Dwarves really. Every couple of months Hobbiton would get a visit from Dwarven merchants – all selling excellent quality items, the likes of which you could not find in the Shire. They always cost a pretty penny, but there was always something in the price range of every Hobbit family, even the poorest. After a day of selling their goods, the Dwarves would spend an evening and a day and an evening at Bag End before moving on. No, Bilbo Baggins never quite steadied into a good Baggins frame, but people got used to his oddities.

“At least he’s a generous host and a polite neighbor,” the town gossips would sigh. “More than you can expect from some and less than you’d receive from others. Though why he wants to teach the children their letters…” They would shake their heads. “A bit cracked…well, as long as it does no harm. It does keep them out from underfoot…and he feeds them.” (Young Hobbits ate a lot and no parent could be blamed for appreciating a free meal or two for their youngsters – even if it did mean the children learned reading and writing and figuring.)

“Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo’s voice rang through the doorway, interrupting Bilbo’s musings.

“Yes, Frodo?” he called back as he shook off his dark thoughts. Affection warmed his voice and smile as he pulled himself to his feet. He began to make his way towards the kitchen. 

“Don’t you want some?” Bright blue eyes blinked up at him when the younger Hobbit came out of the pantry. The other three slipped by them, cheeks like a chipmunk’s in the autumn, as they returned to the parlor.

“There are only four,” Bilbo explained. “One for each of you.”

“I want to share mine with you,” the youngster shook his head, holding up his pastry.

Warmth spread through Bilbo’s chest as he smiled down at his nephew. He reached out and ruffled Frodo’s hair. “Why, thank you, Frodo my lad,” he replied in a cheery tone. “Perhaps I might have a nibble or two and you can have the rest. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good, Uncle Bilbo!”

“Then let me get a knife and we’ll divide it between us, hmm?” Bilbo rummaged for a moment and then pulled out a proper pastry cutting knife. He cut off a small piece of the pastry for himself before handing the rest back to Frodo. “There you are,” he announced. “Now I can share a little as well and the whole of us will have had some. Is that better?”

Frodo nodded and ate the small pastry before running back to join the other boys by the fireplace. It amused Bilbo to listen to their cheerful voices as he cleaned up the crumbs and did a quick sweep of the floor.

“Here, Pip, let me show you,” Frodo laughed.

“No! I do it!” Pippin’s voice sounded as demanding as his great-great-grandfather, the Old Took, ever had. 

Another laugh came rippling through the house as Frodo gave in. “Okay, okay, you do it.”

“Are you sure he should be doing that?” Sam asked, his voice quieter than the other two. “He’s only three.”

Bilbo’s eyes narrowed and he turned towards the open door, broom in hand, only to relax a moment later as Frodo spoke once more. “He can’t hurt anything – it’s just a wooden puzzle.”

“Best we keep it away from the fire then,” Sam replied. There came a pause. “Oh, wait, don’t do that Merry!”

“Firewood!” Merry laughed. Pippin gave a wail as Frodo and Sam’s voices grew agitated.

Bilbo winced and moved hurried to the parlor, propping the broom against a wall as he walked through the door. “Well, well, my lads, what are we doing in here, hmm?” He repressed a smile as Merry hopped away from the fireplace, hands disappearing behind his back. Instead he tapped a finger on the boy’s nose. “Merry?”

“Yes, Cousin Bilbo,” Merry sighed, a pout sliding over his face as he brought his hands forward. One of Pippin’s puzzle pieces rested in his small grasp.

“That was most unkind of you, Meriadoc Brandybuck,” Bilbo scolded. He took the puzzle piece and handed it to the sniffling Pippin. “We do not act this way. Why would you want to hurt Pippin?”

“Didn’t.” Merry looked down, shuffling his feet. “Just playing.”

“Playing means being nice to one another,” Bilbo told him. “Being mean is not playing.” When Merry pouted again, he sighed. “If you are mean, then you are behaving like Lotho. Is that what you want to do?”

The young hobbit’s eyes went wide with distress. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

“I know, I know,” Bilbo pulled him into a hug, patting him on the back. “You would never be mean on purpose, would you?” Merry shook his head and then Bilbo smiled. “Good lad. Now, wipe your eyes and give your cousin a hug. We have to take care of those younger than us – always remember that.”

Merry rushed over and threw his arms around Pippin. “I’m sorry!”

A slow, happy smile crept over Pippin’s face and he hugged his older cousin. “Merry!”

“Now, come,” Bilbo coaxed all of them. “Gather around by me.” He took his seat once more and watched with another indulgent smile as the boys moved their cushions so they could sit between him and the fire. “What do you want to know about tonight, hmm? Another story about the Elves?” His gaze flickered between them. Pippin stood up and toddled over to him. He held up his hands and Bilbo swept him up, letting the youngster curl on his lap. “What do you think, little Pip?”

“Dwarfs!” Pip clapped his hands.

“Dwarves,” Bilbo corrected, a patient note in his face.

“Uh, huh!” Pip nodded. “Dwarfs.”

A chuckle bubbled up in Bilbo’s throat. “Dwarves, it is then,” he agreed. “I shall tell you a little of Thorin Oakenshield, the King under the Mountain, and his Companions. We might even have time for the troll story.” Four pairs of hands applauded as their matching eyes fixed on him. 

Bilbo fell into a storytelling rhythm as he talked of his friends and companions. He could still see each of them clearly in his mind, and talking about them stirred the embers in his heart, once more bringing up a flare of longing. Erebor… Yes, he would need to make some sort of plan to go back. He missed them too much to stay away much longer. Maybe when spring arrived and the cold snap broke…

“Trolls, Mr. Bilbo?” Sam peered up at him through curly bangs. “Will you tell us about the trolls?”

“Very well, I think we have enough time.” Bilbo lifted Pippin from his lap and placed him between Merry and Sam. “So there I was, at the mercy of three monstrous trolls. And they were all arguing amongst themselves about how they were going to cook us.” His nose wrinkled in distaste – he could still smell those trolls. “Whether it be turned on a spit or whether they should sit on us one by one and squash us into jelly.” 

“Yuck!” Merry stuck out his tongue and Bilbo nodded. 

He took up the story once more. “They spent so much time arguing the witherto’s and whyfor’s that they never noticed Gandalf arrive. He stood on top of the rock and gave a great shout. ‘The dawn will take you all!’” All four children jumped as Bilbo shouted. They continued to hang on his every word. “Then Gandalf brought his staff down on the rock and it cracked in two. Half of it fell away and the sun’s first light shone through. Then…Poof!” The four boys jumped again. “It turned them all into stone!”

Cheers went up and Frodo gave a grin. “You were really brave, Uncle Bilbo!”

“Oh, I don’t know about brave,” Bilbo shook his head. “It was just…something that needed doing.” He eyed the frost-covered windows once more. “Let’s get you four into bed. It’s going to be a cold night, so I want to get you in there while the rooms are all still warm. No Hobbit-ice tonight, hmm?”

The boys laughed and grumbled and stumbled around getting ready for bed, but it didn’t take long for them to drop off once they let themselves relax into the warmth of the bedclothes. Bilbo stood in the door, watching for a few minutes and enjoying the sense of peace and tranquility settling in the house.

A sudden burst of wind howling outside his door stole that from him.

“Not another one,” he murmured as he moved to make sure the fire was out. “Not another winter like that one.” A small prayer never went amiss, but he should still make plans…just in case. His footsteps directed him to his own bed where he stared at the ceiling for much too long as he worked through some half-formed ideas in his mind. Should another Fell Winter be in the making, danger would come – and he was no longer a footloose bachelor. He had Frodo to worry about – the youngster must be kept safe. 

Tomorrow, he told himself, tomorrow he would put everything aside and concentrate on making preparations – just in case. His earlier words to the boys came back to him:

_“Remember, prepare for the worst and it almost never happens.”_


	3. From West to East

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's trip east

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this feels a little too choppy, but I want to get to the Dwarves and the Hobbit kids, and we've all seen and/or read about the potential pitfalls of that particular journey.

_“Remember, prepare for the worst and it almost never happens.”_

Almost being the key word.

The phrase haunted Bilbo as he watched the young Hobbits play near one of Rivendell’s many fountains. Despite all his preparations and plans, this time the worst happened. It had been a long journey, such a long journey for one Hobbit and almost a double handful of children, none of them so much as in their tweens. Reaching Rivendell had almost proven all he could do, but the past couple of days allowed him to rest and relax and consider his next options. They had been given shelter by Elrond for as long as they needed or desired, but Bilbo had other ideas.

He wanted to see Erebor again – while he still had time.

The question of course – should he do that while he held responsibility over the children? His decision had finally been made earlier that day when a group of injured Elves and Rangers poured into the hidden valley seeking shelter and healing. Once they were sorted out to bedrooms or with the healers, it took Bilbo and the Elves two hours to track down most of the Hobbit children. They found them huddled in the very back of a storeroom, silent tears on tiny faces.

The youngsters had seen too much – today in Rivendell compounding what they had seen and heard in their escape from the Shire.

The early chill of winter came through on its promise and the waters began to freeze around the Shire. Bilbo made sure to keep food and travel supplies ready, packaged with care in a wagon he kept in the back of his garden. If the worst came, he wanted to be able to get away as fast as possible. And the worst came when the Brandywine froze over – months earlier than it had during the Fell Winter. How he’d gotten away from the Shire with all of these younglings… Was it luck or a miracle? 

After the first attacks by wild wolves, Bilbo began talking to his neighbors. Most of them planned to hide deep in their cellars with their families and all of the provisions they managed to gather. It might have been a good idea – if Bilbo thought wolves would be all they would face. He knew differently. No matter how dark or evil they were, orcs and wargs would be affected by the cold and ice just like everyone else. They too needed to eat. If wolves already ravaged the Shire by night this early in the cold season, then darker and deadlier things would follow. Bilbo enjoyed being right as much as the next person, but this time he wished he had been wrong.

If he could only forget the sounds of battle echoing through the Shire…the sounds of…

No. He shut the sounds away.

The attacks began – just as he’d feared. Bilbo wasted no time. Word came to Hobbiton and he packed up Frodo to begin the trek to safety. No locked or barred door would hold off the orcs for any length of time, and he would not risk his young nephew for a few handfuls of dirt. However precious Bag End might be, it was nothing more than dirt and trinkets compared to his nephew’s life. The wagon held food, supplies, and some of Frodo’s treasures as well as Bilbo’s book. Bilbo himself wore his mithril shirt and carried Sting. This Hobbit learned the value of having such a ‘letter opener’ handy during his adventure.

He rather thought his Dwarves would be proud.

Then the attack came to Hobbiton itself. The first screams echoed through town and Bilbo never hesitated. He snatched up Frodo, running to hook up the wagon and leave. As he drove through town he called for others to hop into the wagon, but they kept running for their smials. It broke his heart, but he could not take the time to convince them. He had Frodo to worry about. Then he came across Sam and Rosie hiding by the mill. Merry and Pippin came flying out of Farmer Maggot’s fields while he found Fredegar hiding under a bridge near Bywater with his younger sister Estella. One of the Whitfoot lads all but threw his baby sister Diamond into Bilbo’s arms in order to chase after a cousin who seemed frozen in the lane.

He could not delay his departure any longer and rode off, hoping against hope he had not left the two lads behind to die.

Now he sat in Elrond’s study and discussed his plans with the Elf lord.

“Why Erebor?” Elrond’s voice held no censure, only curiosity.

Bilbo sighed as he sat back in his chair. “Two reasons, really, I think,” he mused, trying to feel his way through his answer even as he gave it. “First – as we saw this morning – Imladris has become a bit of a refuge and house of healing for the Dunedain.” He shook his head. “I know it always has been, but it seems a good deal more active.”

“True,” Elrond allowed. “The dark creatures of the north have begun to grow restive and bold once more. Their numbers continue to recover from their loss on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain. While a victory for the forces of good, the Battle of the Five Armies did not cleanse all of the forces from Gundabad and there are other strongholds.”

“Precisely,” Bilbo nodded. “The children were already having nightmares, and the ruckus yesterday did not help.” A pained expression flickered in Elrond’s eyes and Bilbo shook his head. “This is not your fault,” he insisted. “It is only these younglings have seen enough for now. They cannot escape the harshness of the world, but I would like to limit the amount they must face at such an age.” He sighed. “This brings me to my second reason for going to Erebor – age. I am over one hundred now and while that may not be much to one of the Eldar, it is a good age for us Hobbits.”

“And yet you do not appear to have aged so much as one might expect,” the Elf-lord noted in a light, questioning tone. 

“Grandfather Took stayed hale and hearty well into his old age,” shrugged Bilbo. “I do not know. I do know, however, that if I do not take the time soon to visit my friends beyond the Misty Mountains, then it is likely I will never do so.” He spread his hands. “So, I will take the young ones to visit my friends and seek shelter for the winter. It’s gotten an early start…and I think it’ll last longer than we might wish.”

Elrond nodded. “You will need to leave soon if you are to make it through the mountain pass with the children.” His fingers tapped on the arm of his chair for a moment. “I shall have some of my warriors or the Rangers accompany you to the house of Beorn and on to Mirkwood should it prove necessary.”

“I do not wish to put anyone out,” Bilbo began, but Elrond shook his head.

“You will not be able to take a wagon over the mountains and it will do our hearts more good to know you and the young ones are safe anyway,” the Elf lord commented. Then a slight twinkle entered his gaze, giving him a look more akin to his twin sons. “Besides,” he continued, “I have no desire to deal with a furious king should something dreadful befall you – and I would likely find three of them on my doorstep in such a case.”

“Always wonderful to know I can inspire such concern,” Bilbo laughed. He did not agree with Elrond, though he acknowledged the potential for Thorin to react in such a fashion. Thranduil did not strike him as the sort to get worked up over one Hobbit, and though Bain might remember him, Bilbo thought him unlikely to become upset over a person he met fifty years ago. “I had wondered how I was to cross the mountains with all of the younglings, but I truly had not desire to put anyone to any trouble. If your folks are willing to help, I would greatly appreciate any assistance. I believe I shall be ready to depart within the next day or two.”

Elrond nodded in acceptance. “I shall see who will be available to journey with you. It may be a mixed force, but they will both escort you and help keep the young ones entertained.”

“Now, _that_ ,” the Hobbit chortled, “is where you should have started. I will take any number of escorts for someone who can help me keep such an active group of youngsters from running off and getting into trouble because they happen to be bored.”

Three days later, Bilbo left the hidden valley on foot, accompanied by eight Hobbit children and a squad of fighters chosen by Elrond himself – with two exceptions. Bilbo’s friend Aragorn had shown up with a group of his Rangers two days previous. When he heard of the Hobbit’s intentions to cross the mountains and to winter in Erebor, the man offered two of his Rangers as additional escorts. One of them, a fellow by the name of Ramdal, called ‘Greybeard’, who would return to Rivendell with the Elves. The second Ranger would remain in the east and return in the spring with Bilbo. This Ranger surprised him, for when he met ‘Singer’ she proved to be a female.

“Women rarely ride among us,” Aragorn laughed, “but it is not forbidden.”

“Because it is so rare,” Elrohir pointed out. 

“Perhaps,” the man acknowledged, “but she has earned her place the same as any other. You and Elladan can both attest to that.”

“True enough,” Elrohir nodded with a sigh. “And I would swear by her bow more than even some Elves.”

Thus did Bilbo meet Merilin, daughter of Thalion, cousin of Aragorn.

Crossing the mountains did not hold the same terror this time, but Bilbo supposed it would be difficult to match the sheer dread of the stone giants battling or the fall to Goblin town. With resolute firmness he turned his mind away from the thought of the gangly Gollum creature he’d met in these same mountains. There was no reason to invite nightmares by remembering those he had no intention of ever encountering again.

And if he checked his pocket for his ring several times a day during the crossing? Well, that was no one’s business but his own.

After the Misty Mountains, they turned to the northeast, planning to travel through the lands of Beorn to the forest path maintained and protected by Thranduil’s people. The Old Forest Road might be closer, but all reports noted the continued presence of the dark creatures spawned by Dol Guldur. Sauron might have been driven forth fifty years ago, but his taint remained. Better to be safe than sorry.

Frodo yawned. “Uncle?” 

“Yes, Frodo?” Bilbo smiled at the dark-haired lad. 

“When are we getting to the bear-man’s house? I’m tired.”

The other children perked up, staring at him with wide questioning eyes. Some of them walked along, holding the hand of one of the Elves while the others leaned into shoulders as they were carried through the wilderness. Bilbo chuckled. Really, they had been quite good about not pestering the adults with complaints, so he supposed they could be excused for asking questions now. He ruffled Frodo’s hair as he glanced around and lifted an eyebrow at the Rangers. 

“A couple more hours or so, young mister Frodo,” Greybeard answered. Then he pointed up ahead of them. “Do you see that clump of trees there?”

The lad rose up on his toes, trying to see, but he shook his head. One of their Elf escorts came up and swept Frodo into his arms, ignoring the small squawk he gave. Bilbo tried not to laugh at the indignant look on his nephew’s face. Frodo seemed to forget all about the Elf and began pointing. “I see it!” he exclaimed, his hands coming together in a happy motion. “I see it!”

“Good lad,” Greybeard nodded as the rest of the company smiled or laughed at the child’s exuberance. “That is where we are headed.”

“Oh, okay,” Frodo nodded. Then he looked at the Elf holding him. “Hi!” he chirped.

Now Bilbo did laugh, turning away and letting the lad chatter at his new friend. His eyes scanned the group, marking each youngster and checking for any telltale sign of unhappiness or the need for a break. 

Pippin seemed to be explaining something to his Elven carrier, something that required the three year old to move his arms in wide sweeping motions. Five year old Merry followed behind him in the arms of a different warrior, shaking his head and giggling as he watched his younger cousin. Sturdy Sam, eight years old and determined to do his own walking, and his companion followed close behind Frodo. Six year old Fredegar Bolger clomped along behind Sam and seemed to be describing a favorite recipe…or possibly asking about lunch. Bilbo could not be quite sure, but the lad rubbed his stomach a time or two and had a wistful look on his face. 

Rosie Cotton, the oldest of the girls at seven, walked next to Sam, but spent her time asking her companion questions about the plants and flowers they passed on their way. The two younger girls three year old Estella Bolger and Diamond Whitfoot, who had not yet passed her first birthday, napped in the arms of two Elves. 

Five lads and three lasses… For a moment Bilbo grew somber. How many children had he left behind? How many faced the dreadful losses he remembered from his tweens? Then he gave himself a shake. No one could prepare for everything, and he expected to leave with only Frodo. To have seven more youngsters should count as a blessing, an unlooked for gift.

Beorn and Mirkwood both ended up taking longer than expected, though Bilbo had to wonder why he thought either visit would be quick or simple. Beorn seemed as taken with the young Hobbits as any Elf in Rivendell had been and insisted they stay for a day so he could feed them properly. For all his fierce appearance, the ‘bear-man’ as the younglings called him remained gentle, even when the adventuresome duo of Merry and Pippin decided to crawl all over him. 

Frodo only seemed to hold back because of Bilbo’s distressed expression.

Thranduil seemed even worse. He and his people would spoil the children rotten within a week, Bilbo was sure. Each child had his or her own minder and pretty much possessed the freedom to wander anywhere within the halls they desired, even to the council chambers. Bilbo ended up having to put his foot down when he discovered them being given treats in the kitchens at any hours of the day.

“Really!” he huffed to Thranduil – who only smiled in a patronizing, smirking sort of way (if an Elf so high and mighty could be said to smirk). “You will put them right off their suppers!”

Now, at last, they came out of the last line of trees, over the last bit of hill, and Bilbo spotted their main goal.

“Look,” Bilbo smiled, kneeling beside the children. “Do you see it?”

“It’s a mountain,” Pippin replied, tilting his head.

“More than that, Pippin my lad,” the elder Hobbit replied, tousling the youngster’s hair as he rose. “It is the mountain – Erebor, the Lonely Mountain – home of Thorin, King under the Mountain.”

“Is he a real king?” Sam asked. “With a crown and everything?”

“He is indeed, young Sam,” Bilbo chuckled. “He is indeed.” His eyes twinkled at Merilin before he forced a serious expression on his face. “So, little ones, shall we take a break or keep going?”

“I’m hungry,” Fredegar announced.

“We still have some lembas,” Merilin offered, but the young Hobbit wrinkled his nose.

Bilbo spoke up before any complaints could get started. “I wonder what Thorin’s kitchens have cooking?” he mused, not looking directly at anyone, but rather staring into the sky and tapping his chin with one finger.

“Kitchens?” Rosie piped up.

“Oh, yes, Rosie-lass,” Bilbo nodded. “A place like Erebor needs more than one.” Then he frowned. “But we haven’t decided yet! Take a break or keep going?”

“Keep going!”

Bilbo held back as smile as he watched Merilin stifle a chuckle at the enthusiastic shouts of the children. Baby Diamond fussed for a moment, but the young woman managed to lull her back to sleep. The two adults began herding the children towards the mountain once more, knowing they would need a break soon.

Or so they thought.

A few minutes into their walk a group of ponies appeared on the stretch of land between them and Erebor. The small group paused, waiting as the riders grew closer. Merilin’s eyebrows rose. “Dwarves,” she told Bilbo. “The riders are Dwarves.”

“Oh, good,” he sighed in relief. “Maybe we can get a ride back and not have to walk the rest of the way.”

Her eyes narrowed on the riders once more. “The one in front…has dark hair and a shorter beard than I’ve usually seen on a Dwarf.” Then she gave a nod. “Oh, I see, he carries a bow. That makes sense then – archers usually keep any facial hair short.”

“Why?” Merry asked, eyes wide as they focused on her.

“Because it is too easy for a beard to get entangled in a bow string,” she explained, showing him how one would use a bow. “The hand comes to the chin, and too much hair would cause problems with their aim.”

“Sounds like Kíli,” Bilbo noted. “I certainly hope so.”

“Why?” Now the question came from Frodo.

“Because he is the king’s nephew,” Bilbo answered. “He will not need to wait for permission to take us to the mountain.”

The riders drew close before the children could ask any more questions. The Dwarves stared at them in surprise, but their leader slid off his pony with an exclamation of surprise. “Bilbo!” Kíli gave a joyful shout, stepping close and tossing his arms around the Hobbit. He all but lifted Bilbo off the ground with his hug.

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo repeated, trying to pat the Dwarf’s back or arm – whatever he could reach. “Yes, here I am.” Kíli released him and held him at arm’s length with a cheeky grin. Bilbo shook his head. “Here I am,” he repeated. “I hope my invitation is still good?”

“Of course it is!” Kíli looked shocked that he would even have to ask. “Uncle would have the beard of anyone who tried to turn you away…and only if he got to them before the rest of the Company!”

A light flush rose in Bilbo’s cheeks as the rest of the squad chuckled, but he shook his head. “Well, then, I hope he does not mind that I brought some others with me.”

Now Kíli took a moment to glance around at the children and he laughed, his grin widening even further. “Tiny Hobbits!” Then he blinked at Merilin. “And a Ranger.” His lips twitched as he turned back to Bilbo. “Interesting new company you are keeping these days.”

“Dwarves.” Bilbo huffed and rolled his eyes. “Singer agreed to accompany me from Rivendell to Erebor,” he explained, and she’ll accompany me back when it is time to return home.”

“You two brought these little ones over the mountains alone!” The entire squad of Dwarves gave them horrified looks.

“Of course not!” Bilbo drew himself up to his full height, affronted by their accusation. “We had a squad of Elves as escort until Thranduil’s hall,” he continued. “They would have stayed with us longer, but I did not think Thorin would appreciate me trailing Elves all over his mountain.”

Kíli flinched as if picturing Thorin’s reaction in his mind. “Good point.” His mood switched yet again and his smile blossomed once more. “Wait until he sees all of this!” He turned and sketched a slight bow to Merilin. “Welcome, Ranger. Thank you for seeing Bilbo safely home.”

“Kíli,” Bilbo sighed.

“Second home,” the irrepressible Dwarf corrected himself without a glance towards the Hobbit.

“It was my pleasure, Prince Kíli,” Merilin chuckled. “I would offer a proper bow, but I might wake the baby.”

The Dwarves behind the prince nodded in understanding even as Kíli waved off her explanation. All of them shared indulgent expressions as they looked over the children and Bilbo knew the two adults could get away with minor infractions of protocol. 

“Come along then,” Kíli waved to the Dwarves. “Let us get this group up to the mountain so they can rest and eat.”

“Yay!” Pippin jumped up and down, his brief shyness fading away. “Food!”

Deep laughter and generous smiles met his enthusiasm as each Dwarf moved to pick up a tiny Hobbit. Kíli eyed Merilin and then gave another laugh. “Good thing you are a more natural height,” he told her. “I think you will fit on one of our extra ponies.”

“Ah,” Merilin smiled, a wry amusement filling her expression. “I have at last discovered a good case for being shorter than my much taller kindred.” She handed Diamond over to Bilbo long enough to mount the tallest of the extra ponies and then took the little one back. 

Kíli hauled Bilbo up behind him and turned to lead the group towards Erebor. “I cannot wait to see Uncle’s face at the tiny Hobbit invasion!” 

Bilbo just sighed. “Dwarves.”


	4. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is reunited with those of the Company in Erebor - as he might have predicted, it's a bit chaotic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chaotic...just a bit.

“Ho, Kíli! You’re back early!”

Bilbo looked up at the call. Though the sun turned the form to a silhouette, he had no difficulty in spotting the tall, bulky form. “And that,” he told the children, “is Dwalin, one of Thorin’s warriors.”

“And Captain of the Guard,” Kíli added. He waved to Dwalin before calling out. “Let uncle know we’ve got company!”

“He’s loud,” Rosie piped up before anyone else could speak, putting her hands over her ears.

“Dwalin or Kíli?” Bilbo laughed as his young Dwarf friend pouted at him. The other Dwarves seemed to be fighting off their own chuckles and Merilin’s shoulders shook in a rather suspicious way as she bent over Diamond’s tiny form.

“Both,” the innocent young lass replied.

The Dwarves laughed, laughter which only deepened as Dwalin’s shout became more of a roar. “Of all the-!” The shout cut off as a door above them somewhere slammed closed.

Kíli turned to Bilbo with a bright smile. “I think he spotted you.”

“You _were_ one of my favorites,” the Hobbit informed him. Kíli pouted and Bilbo shook his head. “How old are you again?”

“Let me through!” The roar had returned, but much closer. “Bilbo Baggins!”

Bilbo, being neither slow of wit nor of feet, spun and plucked Merry up off the ground. He turned back in time to drop the startled young Hobbit into the tall Dwarf’s arms. “There you go, Merry-lad!” Bilbo announced in a cheery voice. “This is Dwalin, the warrior Dwarf you wanted to meet.”

Everyone stared, though Bilbo could hear Merilin’ soft laughter behind him. He could not tell which of the two were the more surprised – Dwalin stared down at the tiny creature in his hands, frozen and stiff as if afraid he might break the lad; Merry blinked up at the Dwarf, still started from his sudden change of venue. 

After a long moment, Dwalin managed to shake off his stupor enough to give Bilbo a good strong glare. “I’ll refrain from stringing you up,” he announced in a gruff voice that did nothing to hide his happiness. “I’d hate to upset the younglings.” He bent down and set Merry back on the ground. “What’s all this then?” His gaze narrowed on Merilin.

She tilted her chin, giving him an acknowledgment of equals, warrior to warrior. “Greetings, Captain Dwalin,” she said, her voice soft and yet projecting without difficulty. “I am called Singer, one of the Dunedain Rangers of the north.”

“And my companion,” Bilbo chimed in. “She and a company of Elves came with me until Mirkwood. The Elves stayed as guests of Thranduil while Singer came with me.”

Dwalin nodded at Bilbo before focusing back to Merilin. “And your plans now, Ranger?”

“To remain until such time as Bilbo chooses to leave,” she replied in a serene tone. Dwalin’s eyes narrowed and she offered him a smile. “Should the king prefer I not remain within Erebor itself, then I shall find a place to stay in Dale during our time here.” Determination settled in her features. “My duty is to see Bilbo back to Rivendell when he is ready. I intend to see my duty done.”

The Dwarf Captain gave her a long searching look before he offered an approving nod. “Good,” he announced without elaborating further. “Then we better take you into Thorin.”

Bilbo kept a sharp eye on the younglings as they entered Erebor proper. The Dwarves entertained them during the ride, but the sights and sounds of the kingdom under the mountain threatened to send them scattering as they tried to see everything. He could well understand the desire. Nothing drove home the years it has been since his quest quite the way seeing Erebor in all its rediscovered glory. His last images of the mountain kingdom came for only a few short months after their victory. He remembered those months – dark and dim as they waited, praying to any Valar they thought might listen – to Eru himself – for the lives of Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli. His memories included shattered stone and crumpled metal, cold hearths and dark passages. Now?

Erebor gleamed – she glittered and shone and echoed with life.

It took his breath away.

He glanced at his companions and smothered a chuckle. Merilin held Diamond safe in the crook of one arm while she wrapped her other hand in a firm grip around one of Merry’s. Pippin would not leave his cousin’s side, so that accounted for three of them. He himself held Frodo’s hand while Rosie walked beside Dwalin, pestering him with questions. Kíli seemed to have Sam enthralled with his stories.

Better the young Gamgee than the imps. All he needed would be for Fíli and Kíli to go teaching Merry and Pippin new ways of getting into trouble. The twin terrors of Rivendell – Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond – had been bad enough. Hobbits could not quite manage Elvish pranks. Dwarves, on the other hand, were more of a Hobbit size…and their pranks would be easier for Hobbits to attempt. No, no, and no. Bilbo did not need any of the younglings in his care learning any new…

Hold on – he missed two.

His sharp eyes moved back around the small group. Ah, there was Fredegar behind Pippin, rubbing his stomach and looking around, but staying close. Now, where was..?

“How deep is it?”

The high voice, feminine and not at all Dwarvish, drew his attention. To be accurate – it drew everyone’s attention. Outsiders might not be unheard of in Thorin’s mountain, but they were not common either – particularly not this young.

Bilbo spotted his missing youngling standing at the edge of one of the rock spans leading to the throne room. She leaned over, peering down into the depths, and his heart lodged in his throat. He tried to clear it, wanted to clear it and call her away, but fear of startling her seemed to be strangling all of his attempts. He fought to speak, but someone else beat him to it.

“Well now, little miss,” came a jovial voice. “I don’t know that it’s ever been measured.”

The elder Hobbit all but staggered in relief as a familiar dwarf in an equally familiar hat stepped up beside the girl. Bofur gave Bilbo a cheeky grin as he steered her back towards them. “I think you might be worrying your folk though.”

“Estella Bolger!” Bilbo scolded as the pair reached them. “You might have fallen right over the edge!” 

The young Hobbit lass flinched and her lower lip trembled. “Sorry, Mr. Bilbo.”

“I know you are,” he sighed, as the anger drained away. “But this isn’t the Shire. You must stay with us.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“It will be all right,” he told her letting his voice soften a little more. “Just…please do not do that again, alright? I do not want you to get hurt.”

“Yes, Mr. Bilbo.” She gave him a small smile.

“Go stand by your brother.” Bilbo’s attention swung back to the Dwarves as she followed his orders. “Thank you, Bofur,” he said, nodding at his friend.

“Ah, don’t you worry, Bilbo lad,” laughed the Dwarf, his wide, welcoming grin stretching from ear to ear. “We’ll make sure nothing happens to your tiny Hobbitlings.” Then he stepped up and threw his arms around Bilbo. “About time you came back by the mountain! It’s been ages since we saw you last!” He pulled back, his hands firm on the Hobbit’s shoulders as he gave him a small shake. “And it was your turn, wasn’t it? Had a few of us at your place the last time!”

“You stopped by on your way back from Ered Luin!”

Bofur waved that away, but he did not get a chance to speak before loud, rapid-fire Khuzdul filled the air. Arms swept Bilbo up and into a rough embrace. Mere moments passed before he felt his feet touch the ground again, but then strong hands patted his back, causing him to stumble even as the voice continued talking.

“Bifur!” Bilbo turned around in an attempt to ward off any more buffets. Friendly or not, Bilbo hoped to avoid any further bruising. Bifur seemed to be chuckling and Bilbo sighed. A tug at his jacket drew his eyes down to see Pippin standing beside him. “Yes, my lad?”

“Cousin Bilbo,” Pippin whispered – or tried to whisper as best as a three-year-old boy could manage. “Cousin Bilbo, he’s got a thing in his head!”

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose, but Bifur patted his arm, shaking his head and muttering a few words. Bofur nodded and translated for his cousin. “Bifur’d rather people be like the little one and ask outright. Better than them whispering behind him. The little ones need to get used to it, but when they do – they ignore it. That’s what he’d prefer anyway.”

“I understand, but there’s a time for manners and a time for asking,” Bilbo sighed. Then he gave a small shrug. “He is only three.” Bilbo put a hand on Pippin’s back and pushed him forward. “Pippin, meet Bifur. He was hurt in a fight a long time ago. It was too dangerous for them to take the axe out, so they had to leave it in.”

“Oh.” Pippin blinked up at Bifur and leaned back against Bilbo’s legs. 

Bilbo started to say something, but then Rosie darted forward. She tugged on Bifur’s sleeve and waited. He looked down at her and she held up her arms in a silent request to be picked up. Bifur swung her up in his arms and stared at her. She stared at the axe for a long moment and then patted his cheek with her small hand. “Does it hurt?” He shook his head and shrugged at the same time. A frown flickered over her face. “Was that a yes or a no?” she demanded. 

“Sometimes it’s a yes, lass,” Bofur told her. He lifted his hands. “And sometimes it’s a no. It doesn’t hurt all the time, but sometimes it does.”

Rosie wrinkled her nose but nodded. She rested her head on Bifur’s shoulder. “I’m sorry it still hurts, Mr. Bifur.”

Bifur blinked at the child nestled so trusting in his arms. He gave a puzzled frown to Bilbo, but the elder Hobbit did not get a chance to speak. Sam moved over beside the wild-haired Dwarf. The young Hobbit fixed serious eyes on him and tilted his head in question. “Mr. Bilbo says you make toys?”

Mutters of Khuzdul accompanied the nod that came in answer to the question. “That’s right, lad,” Bofur translated. “We’ll show you some later.”

“Thank you!” Bright smiles broke over almost every child’s face. 

Then Bofur turned to Kíli. “Thorin’s got that mess of ‘diplomats’ from the Iron Hills in with him right now. You might want to wait before descending on the throne.”

“Oh?” Bilbo’s eyebrows went up in curiosity.

“Bilbo Baggins!”

“Again a Dwarf shouting my name,” he sighed. “At this rate we won’t need to be announced to Thorin. The whole place will be ringing with the information.” An affectionate smile stole over his face as he turned to face Glóin as the joyful, yet bristling Dwarf stormed up. 

“We’ve missed you, laddie!” A strong hand patted his shoulder, causing him to skid forward a step or two.

“I missed you too,” Bilbo admitted, straightening his jacket. 

Glóin huffed out an amused breath. “About time you came back,” he scolded. “You’ve still to meet my lad Gimli and I find you with a pack of youngsters of your own.”

“Oh, no,” Bilbo shook his head as a shadow passed over the children’s faces. “I have only…borrowed them for now. Only one of these mischief-makers is actually mine.” He started to turn so he could introduce Frodo when another pair of arms pulled him into a hug.

“Bilbo!” The soft-spoken, happy voice of the company’s quietest member soothed the atmosphere, giving everyone a moment to catch their breath. “Welcome back.” The large Dwarf stepped back, an affectionate smile curving his lips in greeting. 

“Bombur,” Bilbo smiled back. “Good to see you. You are looking well.” 

“Aye,” he replied. “My wife spoils me.” He patted his stomach. “It’d be bigger, but Bofur makes me go walking with him.”

“And good for you I do,” his brother scoffed. “You’d be needing help just to get to the table.”

The ginger-haired Dwarf gave Bofur a lofty glare and then turned back to the Hobbit. “You all look tired,” he noted.

“It’s been a long journey,” Bilbo agreed. His gaze swept over the children and he leaned forward, giving a false pretense of secrecy. “Do you know where we might get a small snack? The younglings have grown quite tired of lembas.”

“Lembas?!?” Bombur looked downright scandalized. “I can’t believe you’ve been feeding that to growing children!” He turned to his kinfolk. “Bifur, give the lass over to Glóin, and the two of you come with me. We’ll get this fixed up right away.” Bilbo’s eyes widened as he watched the usually shy Dwarf issuing orders with all the authority of Thorin. 

A soft chuckle in his ear caused him to jump. Wicked amusement danced in hazel brown eyes as Bilbo glared. “Something wrong, Master Baggins?” Nori asked, innocence dripping from his voice.

“Nori!” Bilbo huffed in resignation. “Do stop doing that! One day you will scare someone to death!”

“The Hobbit travels across the wilderness with a company of Dwarves, faces trolls, goblins, wargs, and orcs, flies on a Great Eagle, fights giant spiders, steals prisoners from the Elf king, riddles with a dragon, prevents one battle just to fight in another one, and he worries about a simple thief.” Nori shook his head in mock confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to respond, but Bombur broke in first. “Lecture him in the Company’s meeting room,” he advised. “That’s where we’ll bring the food.” He swept up his brother and cousin and hurried off.

Nori laughed. “Being head chef of the Royal kitchens has done him good.” 

“So it has,” Bilbo agreed, still amazed at the change. He glanced around, smiling as he noticed Rosie now chattering at Kíli while Merilin looked on in amusement. Diamond shifted and gave a small mew. The Ranger looked up. “We might want to find somewhere quiet before she wakes fully.”

“I should think so,” he agreed.

“Come along then,” Kíli gestured with his head. “The meeting room is just for the Company, so it should be quieter there.” He gave Bilbo a quick grin. “And don’t worry – Bombur’s got younglings of his own; he’ll know to bring something she can have.”

They made their way down quieter and more refined corridors. Guards kept careful watch, nodding to Kíli in respect even as their eyes widened at the sight of the Hobbits. The Company surrounded them, overprotective as ever it seemed. Bilbo followed along, his hands free for once as Frodo walked beside Dwalin, chattering about their journey. Free to relax, knowing the children were safe, Bilbo turned to Nori. “Dori? Ori? How are they?”

“Oh, we’ll see the fussiest of us in the meeting room,” Nori replied, his airy tone doing nothing to hide his affection. “He’s going to smother you, you know.” A hint of concern flickered in his eyes, but the Dwarf kept his tone light and even. “His mothering instincts have been starving with Ori away.”

“Oh?” Bilbo kept his request to a simple inquisitive sound. It would spur Nori more than any barrage of questions could manage. 

The former thief gave him an amused look, but did not call him on his attempt at manipulation. “Aye,” the star-haired Dwarf nodded. “Ori’s gone off with Balin and Óin to investigate the possibility of reopening Moria. We get letters, of course, but Dori worries himself between each one.” 

“You’ve got funny hair.”

Both of them looked down at the sudden comment. Bilbo sighed. “Pippin….”

“It’s true,” insisted the small Hobbit.

Bilbo shook his head. “It is not polite to say, no matter what you might think.”

“It’s hard to be polite,” Pippin pouted.

Nori chuckled. “That’s what I say!”

“Do not start,” Bilbo spun to face him, one finger coming up in warning. “These Hobbit children are going to learn proper manners if I have anything to say about it.”

“Ah, Bilbo…”

“Nori!” Everyone looked up to find a silver-haired Dwarf with his hands on his hips. “You heard, Master Baggins,” Dori continued. “You leave him alone. His children will get into less trouble than all of you, I’ve no doubt.”

“Now, Dori…” 

“Dori!” Bilbo broke in before the older Dwarf could get started on his irrepressible younger brother. “I thought I asked you to call me Bilbo?”

“Yes, well, I suppose you did,” Dori hemmed about the topic, before dropping it – unanswered – to smile down at Pippin. “And who is this lad?”

“We’re going to the meeting room so we can meet them all,” Nori told him. 

A new figure stepped up from behind Dori. “Meet who?” 

“Fíli,” Bilbo’s smile widened as the blond Dwarf blinked at the group in surprise. “How good to see you again!”

“If it’s not Mr. Boggins!” Fíli laughed, throwing his arms around the Hobbit. He gave him a quick, hard embrace and then stepped back and hit him on the shoulder. “You shouldn’t have stayed away so long!”

“His name is Baggins, not Boggins!” Frodo frowned up at the Dwarf prince.

Fíli’s eyes went wide. “A tiny Hobbit!” His eyes moved around the group. “Quite a few tiny Hobbits,” he corrected himself. His gaze narrowed on Merilin, but he glanced down to Frodo. “My apologies, lad, I was just teasing him.”

“Why?” Frodo tilted his head.

“Because it’s been so long since I’ve seen him that I’ve had to save up all my teasing chances.”

The young Hobbit seemed to consider the idea before nodding. “Oh, that’s alright then.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fíli swept a low bow. “I am grateful for your understanding.”

“Dwarves,” Bilbo sighed.

“And Rangers.” Fíli’s gaze moved back to the quiet form beside Dwalin. 

Merilin tilted her head, dipping it in a show of respect. “And Rangers,” she agreed. “I am called Singer.”

Fíli’s shoulders twitched and his eyes sharpened. Bilbo would have sworn that his entire _body_ had chosen to focus on the soft-spoken Ranger.

And he was not the only one to notice.

“Fíli?” Dwalin prompted, concern shading his voice. “You alright?”

“Yes,” Fíli replied in a distant tone, “yes, I’m fine.” His eyes never left Merilin – who appeared more confused than anyone else.

“Come on then,” Kíli urged, even as his eyes narrowed on his brother. “This is the room.”

Everyone obeyed and moved into a large room filled with cushy, comfortable chairs at one end and a large dining table at the other. Shelves lined one wall while tapestries decorated the opposite side. It looked comfortable, private, and welcoming. “Our escape from the burden of duty,” Kíli remarked at Bilbo’s expression. Then he gave a soft snort. “Or so Balin called it. I just think it’s a great hiding place when they want to drag me into another meeting.”

The Hobbit younglings began exploring the room, peering in and around everything. “Now then,” Bilbo called out, “all of you stop that.” 

“Oh, let them explore,” Dwalin laughed. “They can’t hurt anything.”

“And they have not yet been properly introduced!” Bilbo insisted. “It is not right-.”

“Here we are!” Bombur hustled back into the room, his brother and cousin following him. All of them bore trays of food with yet more food in the bags strapped across their chests. “Let’s eat!” The children all cheered. 

Chaos reigned as everyone tried to find seats. Bilbo noticed that Fíli managed to place himself next to Merilin, almost shoving Bofur out of the way to do it. Now what was going on there? The children distracted him before he could think on it long, but he made a note to himself to keep an eye on the situation. For the moment, he did his best to keep an eye on the younglings as they began to inhale the food in front of them. It would not do to reach the mountain only to have one of them choke on something. A few minutes into the meal he realized the Dwarves had stopped eating and stared at the children with faint disbelief in every face.

“Mahal bless,” Dori shook his head. “Where are they putting it all?”

Fredegar looked up at him and frowned. He finished chewing his current mouthful of mushrooms and then pointed at his plate. “I’s putting it in my tummy!” he announced.

The room dissolved into hilarity at the youngster’s matter-of-fact reply.

“Rumor proves accurate for once.” A deep voice broke into the merriment. Everyone turned to find a solemn-faced Thorin standing in the entrance. “Erebor has indeed been invaded.” A stern expression swept the room – only to fade into amusement as his eyes settled on Bilbo. Suppressed mirth tinted the Dwarf king’s voice as he addressed his newly-returned companion. “Did it take you so long to plan an effective invasion strategy?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Now I know where Kíli gets it from.”

Laughter erupted in the room once more as Thorin strode forward to pull Bilbo into a welcoming embrace. The elder Hobbit heard his nephew demanding to know what was so funny. Gratitude filled him as he heard Merilin step into the breach and answer the persistent boy’s question.

“King Thorin is teasing your uncle,” she replied. Her soft chuckle served notice that Frodo did not think her answer sufficient. “Do not worry, Frodo – the king means no harm. It is the way of friends and family to have matters which amuse them and confuse others. And it has been a long time since your uncle and his friends have been together.”

_A long time indeed,_ Bilbo thought as he felt the rest of the company gathering around them. _A long time indeed._


	5. Sharing the Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Formal introductions and the formal request for sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is still enjoying this story. It only has a couple more chapters, and I hope to have them up as quickly as possible.

Bilbo watched the young Hobbits as they began exploring the room once they finished with the food. He loved how comfortable they seemed in such strange surroundings. Resilient things – younglings – they always managed to bounce back or to find a reason to smile, laugh, play, even in the darkest of days.

“Bilbo?”

Several questions layered in Thorin’s simple use of his name. He sighed and turned to find his Companions watching him with varying degrees of curiosity. The Hobbit scratched the back of his head. “Time for explanations, hmm?”

“Perhaps introductions first?” Merilin offered in a sympathetic tone. “While ‘tiny Hobbits’ may work well for a collective term, it will do no good should someone wish to address merely one.” The sound of a small crash followed by an even smaller “Oops” did not even cause the Ranger to blink. “Or two perhaps?” She rose to her feet and placed the cooing Diamond into Dori’s arms without a word. Then she turned away, striding towards the corner in question. “Merry! Pippin!”

“Introductions?” Bilbo offered, repressing a laugh at the surprise in Dori’s face. Thorin nodded and Bilbo called the youngsters to him. Almost all of them rushed to gather around him. Merilin walked her two hooligans over, still giving them a quiet lecture about respecting other people’s property. “Right then,” he continued, “time for everyone to meet everyone.”

“We know who they are, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo objected. 

“But they do not know you,” the older Hobbit replied, familiar with his nephew’s dislike of anything that interrupted his explorations. “And can you name _all_ of them?” Frodo frowned as he looked around the table, but he had to shake his head. Bilbo nodded. “Thus introductions.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Frodo sighed.

Smothered chuckles from the Dwarves drew a baleful glance from Bilbo. “That will be more than enough out of you lot as well,” he told them. Their faces ranged from amused to mock innocence. He shook his head and fused over the children until they fell into a somewhat organized line. Moving to one end, he stood with his hands on Frodo’s shoulders. “This is my nephew, Frodo Baggins.” He paused and then continued. “Technically he is my cousin through various interconnections, but as we are of different generations, Hobbits tend to simplify the naming of things.” Bilbo smiled down at the younger Hobbit before his eyes came up to meet Thorin’s. “He is also my heir.”

Thorin nodded, an understanding glittering in his gaze as his eyes flickered over to his own nephews before returning to the Hobbits. “Welcome to Erebor, Frodo,” the king offered in a serious voice. 

“Thank you,” Frodo offered a quick, short bow before looking up at his uncle for approval. A smile broke over the lad’s face as Bilbo patted his shoulder.

The older Hobbit continued down the line. “This is Samwise Gamgee, my gardener’s son and one of Frodo’ best friends. His family is renowned throughout the Shire for their ability to grow any kind of vegetables, and Sam seems to be following in his father’s footsteps.” He ruffled Sam’s hair.

Sam muttered something, turning red and ducking his head.

“Next we have Meriadoc Brandybuck, the one we usually call Merry, and Peregrin Took, more commonly referred to as Pippin.” Bilbo paused, glancing down at the two pranksters and then his gaze tracked over to Fíli and Kíli. “And I better not hear one word about either of you teaching them anything.” Now his stare shifted to Nori. “Or you either. These two cause more than enough chaos on their own without getting additional pointers from any of you.” He shook his head. “I have more than enough to worry about, wondering what they picked up from the twins at Rivendell.” 

Both boys blinked up at him with wide innocent eyes. “Fun!” they chorused.

“You say fun,” the older Hobbit muttered, “I still say chaos.” He moved sideways once more. “This is Rosie Cotton. Her family owns the Green Dragon.”

“Good ale,” Bofur broke in.

Rosie gave him a bright, sunny smile as she dropped a small curtsy. “The Green Dragon has the best ale in all of the West Farthing!” The words sounded rote, as though memorized over long repetitions, but nothing seemed forced or memorized in that smile.

“Aye, lass,” Bofur agreed, nodding in his affable fashion. “I’ll swear to that.”

“Then you get a free mug next time you come in,” she chirped back and the miner grinned at her.

Bilbo pushed down a flinch, but knew he failed to hide the concern when half a dozen gazes narrowed in on him. Frowns flickered over Dwarvish faces and the Hobbit hurried to continue his task. “That brings us to this brother and sister pair,” he announced as he placed on hand on each shoulder. “Let me introduce Fredegar and Estella Bolger.”

The two Hobbits waved, Estella sliding closer to her brother. Bilbo would swear he heard a couple of them cooing, but a quick glance around revealed nothing.

Almost nothing.

Merilin seemed to be holding in laughter. Her face remained smooth, serene as ever, but amusement danced in her eyes, the silver shining and glittering in the light. He lifted a brow at her and she raised a shoulder in return. Then she gave a pointed look in Dori’s direction.

“Ah,” he spoke aloud once more, “of course I cannot forget our youngest. Dori is holding little Diamond.”

“She certainly seems to be one,” Dori agreed, his smile fond as the baby tugged on a piece of his beard.

“Her great…hmm…wait a moment.” Bilbo paused, squinting at the ceiling as he counted in his head. “Her great, great, great grandfather was a Dwarf,” he continued. “All of the girls in the line since then have been named after one gemstone or another.”

“How many girls?”   
“Well, he had three,” Bilbo began before realizing he did not recognize the voice.

Everyone turned and Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up as a strange, yet familiar looking Dwarf walked in. Based on dress, this Dwarf appeared to be one of the rarer females…and that is when her identity clicked for the Hobbit. Given the resemblance to Thorin, this could only by his sister, the Lady Dís, princess of Erebor and mother of Fíli and Kíli. He bowed.

She gave him a welcoming smile. “So, Mister Baggins, I finally get to meet the Hobbit I’ve heard so much about.”

“Lady Dís,” he greeted her with a respectful nod. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Does it now?” Dís turned an arch look on her brother and her sons. “It better be a good one.”

Bilbo’s lips twitched as he watched a muted sort of panic flare in the eyes of all three sons of Durin as they tried to remember what they had told the Hobbit of their lone female family member. He disguised a chuckle by clearing his throat. “A formidable reputation indeed,” he concluded, “as they seem to respect both your wrath and your advice.”

“Now I know they’ve been telling tales,” she laughed. “But you’re a good friend and wouldn’t tell me anyway, would you?” She shook her head as he shrugged. “Keep their secrets, Bilbo Baggins.” Dís stepped forward and pulled him into a fierce hug. “Thank you for their lives,” she murmured. A bemused frown settled on his face and Bilbo opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. “I’ve had the whole story – from start to finish…and I know well who to thank for their lives.” Her hand gestured to the table. “All of their lives.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo blustered about, face going red. “They did end up saving my life several times-.”

“And good for them,” she interrupted. Her eyes tracked over to Merilin, flicking to where Fíli stood near her shoulder and back. “One last introduction on your side I think.”

Curiosity reared up in Bilbo’s mind once more, but he pushed it back. “This is Singer, one of the Northern Dúnedain,” he replied, his attention shifting from Dís to Thorin. “She accompanied me from Rivendell.” Thorin’s eyebrows shot up and Bilbo hurried to continue. “Not alone,” he assured them. “Another Ranger and a company of Elves were with us. The others remained in Thranduil’s Halls. I think they will go back to Rivendell, but meet us again when we return.” He frowned. “Or another group will…I’m not sure how that is going to work out.”

“And when do you plan to do that?” Caution entered Thorin’s voice.

“I was hoping in the spring?” Bilbo ventured. “If an invasion of Hobbits would not go amiss of course.”

The king turned to face Merilin. “Your thoughts on this, Ranger?”

“My duty remains with Bilbo,” she replied, her chin tilting up in determination. “If you would prefer I not remain here, I shall seek lodging in Dale, but I shall be in these lands until Bilbo sees fit to return west once more.”

“Oh, you’ll be staying here,” Dís told her. “I shall find space for you…with Tauriel I think. She will like having another female nearby.”

Tauriel? Bilbo gave Thorin a questioning glance, but nodded when the king shook his head. The Hobbit would get the story later. For now he would concentrate on-.

“Cousin Bilbo?”

The impatient question drew his attention down to a fidgeting young Hobbit. “Yes, Merry?”

“Are you going to tell us who they are now so we can go back to playing?”

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo laughed. “Stubborn little goat.” He flicked the tip of Merry’s ear. “Now I know you have heard all their names before today and some of you have already figured out who is whom, but we shall do this the proper way.” His sigh turned into a chuckle as he gestured towards the Dwarves. “This is Thorin Oakenshield, king of Erebor.” 

“He killed the Pale Orc,” Sam muttered at Pippin.

“Yes, he did,” Bilbo agreed. He shrugged at the Dwarves. “I’ve told them the story of the journey. It’s their favorite now.” The introductions continued. “This is his sister, Lady Dís.”

Estella tugged on his sleeve. “She’s got beard.”

“She does,” he agreed. “Dwarf women do.”

“Why?” the little Hobbit lass asked as she patted her own cheeks. “Mama no got beard.”

“Hobbit women do not grow beards,” he continued in a patient tone. “Dwarf women do. It is part of their heritage.”

“Not fair,” she pouted.

Now Bilbo spluttered as he tried to think of a reply. Dís saved him when she stepped up to the girl and knelt down. “It’s fair,” she disagreed in a gentle tone. “We are who we are, who we were born to be. For some reason, we will be needed in these forms.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Estella sighed. Then she smiled. “Your beard is pretty.”

“Thank you,” Dís laughed, leaning up to press a kiss on the girl’s forehead. “I think your hair braids look lovely.”

“Miss Singer did them.”

“She did a good job,” the Dwarf nodded, before turning and rising to her feet. Her attention swung back to Bilbo. “You might want to finish before there are too many more interruptions.”

“Right.” He took a breath and turned back to the children. “Dori is the Dwarf holding Diamond and his brother Nori is just beside him.” The silver-haired and star-haired Dwarves both waved. “You all talked to Kíli on the way to the mountain. He’s the son of Lady Dís and Thorin’s nephew. His brother, Fíli, is standing next to Singer.” 

“Why’s he got light hair?” Pippin asked as he looked at the Dwarves in question. 

Fíli laughed and stepped over to crouch down in front of the young Hobbit. “I take after my father,” he explained. “He had hair the same color as mine.”

“Where’s he?” The Hobbit children all looked around as though expecting another Dwarf to pop out of stone.

“He went to the Halls of our Fathers a long time ago,” the Dwarf explained. “When I was still too little to remember.” Pippin’s nose scrunched up in confusion though the older children – Frodo, Sam, and Rosie – seemed to understand and gave Fíli sorrow-laced smiles. He shook his head and focused on Pippin. “He’s gone.”

As Pippin grasped the meaning, however much he could in such a young mind, tears welled up in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, little one,” Fíli replied as he pulled Pippin into a hug. “Don’t cry – it’s alright.”

Bilbo cleared his throat and pointed back towards the table, though he placed his other hand on Fíli’s shoulder. “The Dwarf with the red hair and beard is Glóin and Dwalin is the tall Dwarf beside him.” He heard some of the children muttering and murmuring, but he continued on, determined to get the introductions finished. “On the other side of the table we have the last three – Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur.”

“They brought the food,” Fredegar announced and the room dissolved into laughter.

Fíli released Pippin and rose, patting Bilbo on the back before moving back over beside Merilin. Bilbo watched as bewilderment settled in the young Ranger’s eyes. He turned towards Thorin and Dís to find them both watching as well – understanding, concern, acceptance, and anxiety clear in their eyes. 

“Can we explore again?” Frodo asked, breaking into the fading laughter.

“Of course,” Bilbo nodded, but held up a finger. “If Thorin says it is permitted.”

Seven pairs of eyes focused on Thorin and he fought to contain a chuckled. He gave them a nod. “Go on,” he replied, indulgence thick in his voice. “You must stay within this room however.”

“We will!”

With that last shout, seven Hobbit children scattered throughout the room peering into drawers and lifting the tops of things. They poked and prodded into every crevice they could find. Bilbo shook his head as he turned back to his friends. “Curious as kittens, the lot of them,” he muttered.

“So are all children,” Dís reminded him. “’Tis how they learn.”

“Bilbo, come and sit,” Thorin gestured at the table. “You have more to tell us, I think.”

The adults gathered around the table once more, people shifting and moving to accommodate various preferences. Thorin sat at the head with Dís on his left and Bilbo on his right. Merilin sat next to Bilbo with Fíli beside her while Kíli sat next to his mother. Dori, Nori, and Glóin sat beyond Kíli while Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur flanked Fíli. Dwalin sat at the foot of the table – between it and the door. Bilbo missed the steady presence of Balin, the cantankerously compassionate Óin, and the shy Ori. He wondered if he would see them again. Moria was a bit further than he intended to travel at his age – even if it would have been nice. 

“You will always be welcome in Erebor,” Thorin began once everyone settled. “We will always have a place for you, but…we began to wonder if you would ever come back.”

“So did I,” Bilbo agreed. “I wanted to, but there always seemed something that needed to be done…and then my cousins, Drogo and Primula died and Frodo needed a home.” He shook his head. “There always seemed to be time ‘later’ but ‘later’ never quite arrived.”

“So what brought you, lad?” Dwalin asked from the other end. “It must have been something for you to come all the way over mountains with a passel of younglings.”

Bilbo exchanged a glance with Merilin before focusing on Thorin. “Have you kept up with things happening on the other side of the Misty Mountains?”

“With Ered Luin and the other settlements,” he replied. “They’ve sent back reports on an earlier, colder winter. Some of the outlying families have moved into the main camps or caverns due to an increase in attacks.” He nodded at Merilin. “We’ve also received word of the aid they have been given by the Rangers.”

“The same is happening everywhere,” she informed him. “All of the folk are suffering from the same – Dwarves, Men, Elves, and…” Her voice trailed away as she glanced at Bilbo.

“And Hobbits.” Bilbo’s expression flickered, a haunted look coming into his eyes. He explained about the early cold and the fears of the elders. Then he went into a discussion of his thoughts and plans and preparations. “Even with all of that it almost didn’t work.”

“But it did,” Thorin told him, one heavy hand coming to rest on the Hobbit’s shoulder. “You and Frodo are safe – and you saved seven more children.”

“I know,” Bilbo agreed with a sigh, “but…there should have been more.”

“We always think we could have done more,” Dwalin told him. The warrior fixed a firm gaze on Bilbo. “Guardians always, always wonder about what we could have done better or faster. What we could have done to save just one more.” His eyes never left Bilbo’s as he shook his head. “You give yourself a moment in time – one night maybe – to let the ‘what if’s’ wash over you, and then you put it away. If you don’t – you’ll make yourself crazy.”

Bilbo began to protest, “I’m not-.”

A chorus of voices drowned him out as each Dwarf began pointing out his rescue of the children as well as the many times he rescued them on their quest for Erebor. Even Dís joined the chaos as she reiterated her earlier words on Bilbo’s actions in regards to her brother and her sons. Merilin waited, waited until the noise died down and Bilbo stared around in surprise. 

“A guardian is one who defends, protects, or keeps safe,” she reminded him. “You have fought with words and with swords and with wits to protect the Dwarves of Erebor. You have spoken in council to defend the peace treaty of the three kings. You have kept safe every secret entrusted to you by any and all of the free peoples.” She paused and tilted her head with a wry smile. “So explain to me how you are not a guardian?”

He huffed at her while the Dwarves repressed chuckles. “You, little miss, are a bit of a know-it-all,” he pointed out.

“And you, sir,” she shot back, “are not even twice my age – so watch who you treat like a stripling.”

“Ah, lass,” Glóin ventured forth, “Bilbo’s a bit over one hundred now if I remember my dates aright. I’ve known quite a few Men, working in trade as I did. You cannot be more than thirty years of age if that.”

Rich laughter spilled over as Merilin shook her head. Her smile brightened their corner of the room as her eyes sparkled at Glóin. “I am sorry, Master Dwarf,” she apologized. “I should not laugh, but…” Another chuckle escaped from her. “I am almost sixty.”

Denials flew through the air, fast and strident.

“Quiet, you lot!” Thorin’s voice cut through the noise. Everyone fell silent, attention swinging to the king where he stood at the head of the table. He waited until he had everyone’s attention before looking back to Merilin. “Sixty?”

“Almost,” she nodded.

“Her cousin is the same,” Bilbo put in. “He actually is sixty…you would think him half his age.”

“Númenórean.”

All eyes turned to the door. Bilbo smiled as another familiar face entered the room, silent footsteps carrying Tauriel to the table. Dwarves shifted without comment to make space next to Kíli. The red headed Elf sat down and offered Bilbo a nod. “Welcome back,” she told him.

“I am happy to see you again,” he replied. Bilbo glanced at Merilin. “Singer, this is Tauriel.”

“ _Mae govannen_ ,” Merilin nodded.

A hint of gratitude touched the curve of Tauriel’s smile. “Well met, Ranger,” she returned. Amusement flickered in her eyes as she glanced at Kíli before turning to Thorin and Dís. “She is of Númenórean blood – the blood of the High Kings of Men.” Merilin wrinkled her nose, but Tauriel continued. “Should she avoid illness and mischance, she will likely have a lifespan equal to nearly two-thirds of that of a Dwarf.”

The Dwarves nodded at that. Although they paid little attention to the world of Men save in necessity, but they possessed their own legends in regards to the Men of the West. Tauriel lifted a brow and Thorin nodded for her to continue. “The entire mountain whispers with news of the Hobbit’s return.”

“An announcement will have to be made,” Thorin sighed. “I’ll take care of it at dinner this evening.” He turned back towards Bilbo. “We have dinner in the large hall, where our people can see us. Will you and the younglings be able to join us? It would be better to get the answers handled sooner.”

Bilbo sighed, but he nodded. “We are tired, but you are right. We should be there, all things considered.”

Thorin frowned. “Bilbo-?“

“We request sanctuary,” the Hobbit told him. His formal tone startled his companions. “Until spring,” Bilbo continued. “So I would rather they begin to get used to us.”

“There is no question,” Thorin informed him. “Erebor will forever be open to you – so long as the line of Durin lasts, you will have a place here.” His eyes moved over to the children, watching them play a game of some sort. His mouth formed a warm smile. “And anyone else you choose to bring.” One finger tapped on the table and then he looked at his sister. “Singer may be placed with Tauriel if they have no objections and Bilbo has a room here.”

“I do?” Bilbo asked.

The rest of the Company gave him incredulous looks and he shrunk back. Fíli shook his head. “Of course you do,” the blond Dwarf told him. “We’ll need to air it out, but it’s been kept for you.”

“We’re all of us in this wing,” Bofur told the astonished Hobbit. “Makes the nobles all twitchy to see us miners wandering into the royal apartments.”

“They can be as twitchy as they like,” Thorin growled. “They stayed home during the quest. Let them stay in their places now.” Then he took a breath. “We will figure out the other details after dinner. For now, we should determine how to situate the children.”

Bilbo sat back as ideas began to fly about the table. The final outcome mattered not – one way or another the children would be placed somewhere safe. They were safe and surrounded by friends…family. He could relax, trusting his companions to share the burden. The important problems were solved – the rest was mere details.


	6. Integration....mostly...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hobbit children are having no trouble finding a place in Erebor. Their friend, Singer? Not so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...this went a direction I didn't expect at the last moment, but I'm still looking to have it wrapped up within another chapter or two.

The days began to speed past as the Dwarves grew accustomed to having a horde of Hobbit children underfoot. Bilbo could not decide which pleased him more – how well the Dwarves took to the children or how much the children seemed to enjoy the Dwarves. The adults allowed the children to toddle after them, ‘helping’ them in their daily duties. Bilbo tried to interfere, but the Dwarves waved him off, hemming and hawing about how much they enjoyed having such invaluable assistance. Given that none of them could finish work on time while so encumbered, Bilbo had to wonder, but Dís told him to let it be. 

“We do not see children often,” the Dwarf lady informed him. Her eyes went distant for a moment. “It is one of the things we hope to see changed now that we have settled back in Erebor.”

Bilbo let his protests go and allowed the children to continue assisting. 

As tended to invariably happen, favorite were chosen. Nothing seemed to be set in stone but some of the Hobbit and Dwarves spent more time together and became confidantes as well as friends. Diamond – too young for friends or confidantes – could be found most often with Dori. The older Dwarf spent his days in his workshop, weaving and sewing, creating new clothing designs and patterns. He began outfitting the Hobbits within days of their arrival and soon all of them possessed a chest full of Dwarvish fashions. It did nothing to lessen the attention they drew, but it did mean more approving smiles when they went into market. Diamond fit into one of his baskets, which he kept lined with the softest scraps, and he swore she got him extra bargains as she could charm even the hardest heart with her cooing laugh.

Merry and Pippin liked Fíli and Kíli well enough, but spent a great deal of their time trailing after Thorin’s Captain of the Guard and Spymaster. Dwalin and Nori both seemed surprised, but delighted to have such curious companions. Bilbo kept a close eye on matters, but Dwalin assured him they would neither sugarcoat the truth nor give the lads nightmares. He trusted both of them – even Nori, to the fellow’s surprise – but fighting and spying were not normal Hobbit past times. Over time, as Merry grew less awestruck and more respectful over Dwalin’s scars and tattoos, Bilbo quit worrying so much. It would do the boys no harm to learn a few tricks on how to take care of themselves and it did keep them out of trouble to have half the mountain’s guards and agents watching over them.

And if both of them came to dinner one evening giggling over how to pick a padlock…well, really, what did it hurt? Every young Hobbit for the past ninety years had tried to come up with a way to get around Farmer Maggot. Let the boys try.

Fredegar and Estella found two different Dwarves and attached themselves. Fredegar followed Glóin about, listening to the tight-fisted Dwarf as he bargained and made trades in the market. The Dwarf, for his part, relished having so attentive a student. His son Gimli did not have the same feel for the bargain. Rather he followed his mother into the mines and the craft halls. Glóin did not seem to mind – he would still boast over his son’s skills with hammer and forge – but Fredegar’s interest tickled him no end and he spared nothing in passing on his hard-earned wisdom.

Estella, on the other hand, adored Bombur. Granted, at three years old Estella continued to eat people out of house and home in her first set of Hobbit growth spurts, but Bombur considered it a challenge. He would create new and more filling meals, especially trying to use items she did not like but which he knew grew in the area of the Shire. Bilbo appreciated the efforts – a Hobbit youngster could be difficult to tempt if their favorites all grew far away. Bombur would let her ‘help’ in creating dessert for the Company dinners…which tended to end up with her covered in flour and need a bath before she could eat.

Bifur and Bofur enjoyed their little shadows as well. Rosie attached herself to Bifur and refused to be parted with him. She began to giggle at some of his remarks, making Bilbo suspicious of just how much of the secret Dwarf language she was picking up. Thorin seemed willing to ignore it, so Bilbo followed suit. They spent most of the day with Bifur making toys while Rosie chattered about various flowers and plants as well as the variety of drinks and food available at the Green Dragon. They made plans for the Dwarves to come visit so they could try her mother’s apple tarts.

Lavender Cotton would end up taking a broom to the lot of them – Bilbo could feel it in his bones.

Bofur and Sam…that particular match up startled him at first. They did not seem to have much in common. Bofur, a miner, and Sam, a gardener in training, could not be much more different…on the surface. When Bilbo stopped to think about it however, he came to an interesting realization. Both of them possessed a deep need to give to others, to support and take care of people. Bofur watched over his cousin and his brother, teasing Bifur out of his moods and making sure Bombur stayed as active as possible. Sam tried to keep Merry and Pippin out of trouble while keeping an eye on Frodo in case his friend needed anything.

Speaking of Frodo…. 

Bilbo could not keep himself from smiling as he watched his nephew follow Thorin from one place to another. Frodo had always been taken with the story of the king in exile who led a small band to reclaim their lost land. In many ways, Thorin had been a hero, a role model to the lost and lonely young boy Bilbo first took in not long after the accident that claimed his parents. Frodo knew about the gold sickness and the various other odd behaviors, but that only made the story more real, the history more alive. A flawed hero, one the child could relate to and emulate…and now one he could touch and talk to… The young Hobbit seemed to be enjoying himself as much as he would on any jaunt around the Shire. Thorin took it well, explaining things to Frodo when he had the chance and asking Frodo’s opinions on minor issues.

Dís laughed and called it ‘adorable’.

Fíli and Kíli drifted between all of the children. No matter which Dwarf the children attached themselves to, they all had one of the brothers as their second favorite. All of the children loved to listen to them tell stories, especially of the journey to win back Erebor. Bilbo could only roll his eyes as the children argued over which stories were better – his or the brothers’. Frodo, Merry, and Rosie grew closest to Fíli while Sam, Pippin, Fredegar, and Estella seemed to prefer Kíli – who just had to tease his brother about having the larger following of tiny Hobbits.

Fíli would laugh and shrug. “I’ll take Diamond and Singer,” he replied, half-serious, half-joking, “and then we shall leave you in the dust.”

It struck Bilbo from time to time that his reunion felt unfinished. Without the whole Company present, it somehow seemed to be lacking something. When Merry fell down some steps, Bilbo half expected to see Óin come bustling up and making dour comments about the lack of railings. It came as a shock when the healer arrived…and it was not his old companion. Then he would see a particularly moving scene or picture – such as Nori cooing over Diamond while Dori watched on with an indulgent smile. Bilbo would catch himself turning to ask Ori for a sketch – only to remember that Ori too was gone off on the new quest.

Most of all, however, he found himself missing Balin.

With the children being watched so closely by so many eyes, Bilbo felt comfortable with turning his attention elsewhere. The oddness of the situation between Fíli and Merlin as well as that between Kíli and Tauriel. He did not press any questions at first. Rather he watched, taking in as much as he could from sheer observation alone. Hobbits might be more laid back and perhaps friendlier than other folk, but as a Race they enjoyed family gossip and could talk for days on the smallest act of a relative out to the third degree if not beyond. That meant they learned to spot small details of word and deed.

And Bilbo saw a great deal more than he thought most would realize.

Kíli and Tauriel spent a great deal of time in conversation, in the archery fields or on the ramparts, but they never touched or came into any form of contact until evening fell and they could retreat to the royal wing. Then something in both of them would relax, as though some form of barricade or shield were lowered. It was nothing overt, but his hand would brush hers as they spoke, or she would sit on the floor and lean back against his legs during a story or tale.

Fíli managed to end up next to Merilin during those same stories, even as he did during the Company meals. When he entered a room, his eyes would focus on Merilin first, a burden seeming to roll off of his shoulders when he spotted her. It took a little longer, but Bilbo noticed another pattern as well – if Fíli could not be beside Merilin, then either Dwalin or Nori would be lingering nearby. For her own part, Merilin seemed bemused by the whole affair. When Bilbo asked her about it, she admitted to feeling flattered, but she thought perhaps she misread some odd Dwarvish custom. He pushed a little more and she pointed out the reaction of the rest of Erebor, of the Dwarves not involved in the Company or its more family-oriented interactions.

While the Dwarves of Erebor welcomed him and the children with open arms, they gave Merilin a wide berth. If required to speak with her, they adopted an icy formality and cold tone – the same as he observed them using with Tauriel. Merilin ignored it. She continued to remain polite, genteel, and cordial. Her behavior would have shamed any Hobbit back in the Shire – even Lobelia – and that was saying something. The stubborn Dwarves either refused to notice or refused to react. Bilbo rather thought it the latter. He did not understand it.

This is when Balin would have been most helpful.

Instead Bilbo cornered Thorin and Dís one evening as everyone else scattered around the main room. They listened as he told them what he had seen and what he had surmised. The two siblings exchanged a long speaking look and the Thorin sighed. “It’s the succession,” he admitted. “Both of them are of an age they might be expected to settle down and marry – particularly in light of our need of the next heir.”

“My sons have sacrificed enough,” Dís all but growled. “I will not have them sacrifice this as well.”

“This?” Bilbo repeated. “This what?”

Thorin rubbed his forehead. “Our population doesn’t grow as fast as some – Men and Hobbit in particular – for we have few females, and fewer who chose motherhood. Dwarf females, like the males, often choose to focus on their craft. They are encouraged to bear at least one child for the Race, but they are not forced and there is no shame in not doing so. Again, the same holds true for the males.”

“Except,” Dís broke in, “for the line of Durin.” She shook her head. “Not the females, mind you, but the males – those of the direct line in particular.”

“Not just the line of Durin,” Thorin pointed out.

“No,” his sister agreed, “but I’m not worried about the other six Fathers at the moment.” She raised an eyebrow and her brother shrugged. Then she turned back to Bilbo. “Each son of the direct line has always, always found a mate – a female he…recognized as being another part of his soul. As Durin the first had to seek out and recognize his mate, so too his descendants.” She worried at her lip for a moment. “With three exceptions, they have always been Dwarves.”

Bilbo began to get a sinking feeling about where this conversation was headed. “And those exceptions?”

“No one knows about Durin I’s wife,” Thorin replied, “but the other two were Hobbits. The nobles would be in less of an uproar had the boys found their matches in the little ones and been required to wait for them to grow up.” He sighed. “I wish Balin were here.”

“Then…?”

“Leave it to my boys to be contrary,” Dís offered in an amused, if concerned huff. “One finds an Elf and the other a female of the Race of Men.”

“Oh, dear.” Both of the siblings snorted at that, but Bilbo felt it appropriate. Cursing – the Valar or fate or whatever – would not accomplish anything. He shook his head. “And what of the boys? What do they have to say?”

“They understand,” Dís replied. “They don’t like it, but they understand.”

“They both understand duty,” Thorin agreed in a resigned tone. “Kíli chafes more, but he won’t say anything. He knows his words would add to the burden Fíli already bears.”

“Wait,” Bilbo blinked. “You said every son of Durin’s line?” He frowned at Thorin.

The king’s eyes shuttered as his expression grew distant. “Smaug took much from us that day,” was all he said.

Sorrow and sympathy shot through Bilbo’s soul. How dreadful! And how much more had Thorin lost on that dreadful day that? He took a deep breath. “And so the succession of the line of Durin rests on Fíli’s shoulders?”

Dís shook her head. “Technically there’s our cousin Dain – Dáin Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, but-.”

“They have less trust of him than we do of them,” Thorin scowled. “Dáin is honorable, and his blood-.”

“He did not come to face Smaug,” Dís pointed out.

“Neither did they.”

Thorin’s disgusted voice all but finished that line of discussion. Bilbo considered his next words for a long moment before he glanced at the royal siblings. “Singer will understand,” he informed them. “About the issues with duty and succession.” They gave him matching looks of polite disbelief and he signed. “There are things I cannot say,” he replied. “Secrets that are not mine to reveal, but…you should speak with her.”

“Perhaps they should.”

The new voice caused Bilbo to jump and then he huffed. “I shall die of heart failure long before the end of winter at this rate.

“I was not attempting for silence,” Singer pointed out, though the repressed laughter in her voice somewhat ruined the effect.

“Oh, no,” Bilbo muttered, “of course you weren’t.” He continued grumbling under his breath. “Thief dwarves and quiet Rangers and sneaky youngsters…it will be an amazing thing if I survive. What an ignominious way to die.”

Singer shook her head and then faced Thorin. “What Bilbo is trying to tell you without breaking confidence, is that I would understand the necessity of duty coming before personal preference.” She paused as Fíli stepped up to the group. A sigh escaped her as she shrugged. “The lines of Durin and Girion are not the only royal lines familiar with exile and harsh survival.”

“What line?” Thorin demanded, concern and curiosity mingling in his eyes as they moved from Merilin to his nephew and back. “There are few kingdoms left in Middle Earth and fewer now without their….” His voice trailed off as his eyes went wide.

A sad, sorrowful smile touched Merilin’s lips. “If my cousin were to have a child, then I suppose I would hold a place equivalent to Kíli as the heir of the heir,” she sighed. “While he remains without issue, I am his heir – a position I look forward to relinquishing.”

“That line died out,” Thorin said in a slow, thoughtful tone. “Or so the reports noted.”

“Falsified,” she replied. “Someone, we are not sure who, learned of the line’s survival and we became hunted – almost to extinction. The line went into hiding and there are few who are aware of our survival.” Merilin fixed a steady gaze on Erebor’s king. “Bilbo trusts you,” she told him, “and during my time here I have seen why. You have honor, King Thorin, so I am willing to offer the same trust. I ask only that you not betray it.” She took a deep breath. “There are lives and destinies beyond reckoning in your hands now.”

Thorin shook his head before reaching out to touch her shoulder. “I – and this Company – would no more betray you than we would Bilbo. Regardless of what my nobles might think, you will always have refuge here should you need it.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the offer in the same simplicity it had been given. Then she glanced at Fíli. “I think we need to talk.”

A flush crept up his cheeks, but he took her hand. “Yes,” he agreed in a quiet tone. “Yes, we should.” 

His mother chuckled. “I like you,” Dís told her. Then she gestured. “Come along both of you. You may speak in my sitting room if that would work, Singer?”

“Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you.” 

The three of them left the room and Thorin turned back to Bilbo. “Is she truly-?” He cut off the question, his gaze flickering to the children, but raised an eyebrow at the elder Hobbit.

“Yes,” Bilbo sighed. “Yes, she is.”

“Poor lass,” Dwalin grumbled, folding his arms over his chest. “It might not have been much, but at least we had a home in Ered Luin – and we still recognized our king. Directionally-challenged idiot though he can be at times.”

The aura of the room lightened as Dwarves snickered or coughed in a vain attempt to avoid laughing as Thorin glared at his Guard Captain. “I can still replace you,” he muttered. “And my sense of direction is not that bad!”

“No one worth anything wants my job,” Dwalin pointed out. “And you can’t stand anyone else who does.” He paused and both eyebrows went up in emphasis. “You got lost in Hobbiton – a tiny place like Hobbiton – _twice_!”

More laughter broke out and now the teasing began in earnest. Each Dwarf and Bilbo were dragged in at one point or another. They let themselves get swept away in the game, putting aside serious discussions for another night. Fíli and Merilin needed to get themselves sorted out before anyone else could worry about plans anyway, so they pushed the concerns away.

And if Bilbo’s eyes strayed towards the door more than once as the night progressed? Well…his weren't the only ones.


	7. Dwarf-Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solutions created and decisions made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to finish! I am going to consider some one-shots though to cover other adventures of Dwarves and Hobbits in Erebor.

Merilin and Fíli seemed to work things out between them. Bilbo watched over the next few weeks as they spent time together – always in public and at a respectful distance. The distance grew smaller in the evenings when the Company met in the safety and privacy of the royal wing. Kíli and Tauriel behaved in much the same way and the two females found common ground. They began to appear in public with Dís, assisting her in her duties. Tauriel continued to work with the archers while Merilin worked with Dwalin and Nori. They became part of the day to day life of the mountain. The majority of the Dwarves – the working and merchant classes – accepted them, not always with open arms, but they respected the females’ willingness to work and to be part of the culture around them.

The nobles grew ever more agitated.

Then Thorin announced Fíli’s betrothal to a noble-born Dwarf of the Iron Hills, a widow of the Battle of the Five Armies.

Bilbo went and found Merilin, dragging her off for a private tea.

“Do not worry, Bilbo,” she told him after he broached the subject with as much delicacy as he could manage. She gave him a smile that managed to combine acceptance and understanding. “I do not feel quite the same depth of connection that Fíli does, though…I can see it developing. Fíli would be easy to love.” Her voice paused as her eyes grew distant. “Aragorn will laugh himself silly,” she murmured.

“Why is that?” he inquired, concern and curiosity now mingling in his voice.

“Men have offered for my hand, you know,” she replied – a rather oblique direction to take in answer to his question, but Bilbo let it pass. He waited and she continued. “Men of our own folk, even those outside our people who do not know for whom or what they ask. I told my cousin to refuse them all – that none of them were meant for me. He gave me one of his measuring looks and then he told me that my destiny would lay in the east. I laughed and insisted that he was the one with the destiny – I planned to live destiny-free.” A chuckle escaped her. “How he will laugh.”

“Aragorn may smile,” Bilbo protested, “but I have difficulty seeing him over such a situation as this.”

“Oh, he foretold it,” she replied. Merilin shook back her hair. “These eyes of ours – silver all down through the ages – have marked our lineage better than any name. So too has the gift we pass down father to son and mother to daughter. We see things – things as they could be depending upon the daily decisions made by others. I am one of the weaker among us – my sight works best on the battlefield – but Aragorn…”

“Powerful?”

“Very.” Merilin nursed her tea. “He corrected me – telling me that in the east I would discover my destiny.” She gazed at the far wall, seeming to become lost in the tapestry. “He told me I would love, long and deep, but never marry. I would never bear children and yet I would be a fierce mother. He warned me to be prepared for acceptance and rejection.” Now she turned her focus back to Bilbo. “Aragorn told me, if I took no man in the west, then I would find myself in the east – loved and hated, adored and disdained… He told me I would rule, but never reign.” One of her hands rubbed her forehead. “Can you think of a better description?”

“I am sorry,” Bilbo sympathized. He could not imagine being trapped between such choices. Some Hobbits – his cousin Lobelia came to mind – married for money or position or the like, but the majority of them married where they loved. 

“I…am not.” 

He lifted his eyebrows at her slow sentence. “No?”

Merilin shook her head. “I know it is odd, the entire situation, but…I feel at home here. I feel like I belong here. This mountain calls to me as nowhere else ever has before.” A smile drifted over her lips, tremulous but real. “Perhaps it is Fíli and I…am not yet ready for that, but…even the lands of my birth do not give me such a feeling of peace as I’ve found here.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “I’ve begun exchanging letters with Marí.”

“Marí?”

“The one who will be Fíli’s wife,” she explained. “We wanted to be as upfront with her as possible. She has only asked that we be discreet.” Surprise flickered in the woman’s gaze. “Neither of us would ever disrespect the vows of the marriage in such a way, but it…it felt…it felt like a weight lifting off of my shoulders when she accepted my presence.” Merilin smiled. “I began writing to her the next day. I think….I think we could be friends.”

Bilbo gave a slow nod. “What are your plans then?” he inquired. “In the spring, I mean.”

“I shall accompany you to Rivendell as agreed,” she replied. “Once there I will speak with Aragorn about returning. If he gives me permission…” Her voice trailed off for a moment as a bright smile broke over her face. “Thorin has offered me a place here.”

“Good!” Bilbo pronounced. He still felt uneasy about the entire situation, not happy for either of his friends, but he understood – as much as any Hobbit could – about the sacrifices leaders could be required to make. If their compromises could bring his friends some measure of happiness in spite of those sacrifices, then he would accept it and rejoice with them. “And what of Kíli and Tauriel?”

“They are hoping to find a similar solution,” she answered. “There is a widow among Erebor’s merchant families – of just high enough birth to be acceptable. She lost her husband two years ago to an accident and has since devoted herself to her craft. There is a child however – and he is but three years old. She needs assistance and her family disapproved of her first husband, so they are letting her struggle.” Anger smoldered in Merilin’s eyes. “I hope they convince Arnina. It would be a good spit in her father’s eye.”

“Merilin!” Bilbo scolded and the woman hung her head, humor overtaking the anger in her face.

“Sorry, Bilbo,” she apologized even as she fought back a chuckle. 

He shook his head. “And here I hoped you would be a good influence on the entire lot of them but no!” A mock sigh filled the air. “What do I find? I find they’ve been a bad influence on you!”

Laughter filled the room as the two of them turned back to their tea. “So,” Merilin began, turning a sly smile on him. “The incident in the kitchens…”

Bilbo groaned. “I knew introducing those boys to Fíli and Kíli would be a mistake!”

More ringing laughter spilled over. “You have to admit,” she pointed out, “they did appear absolutely adorable at the end.”

“At least they used one of Bombur’s kitchens,” he sighed. “I hate to think of the uproar if they had used someone else’s.” He gave a small shudder.

Two days previous, Fíli and Kíli somehow ended up responsible for Merry and Pippin when Nori and Dwalin went out to Dale for the day. The idea of those four being on their own made Bilbo nervous. He spent a great deal of the day hovering until it seemed as though the end might be in sight. He left them to their own devices when he returned to his rooms to have a bit of a lie-in before preparing for dinner.

Less than an hour later, Bilbo came to understand his mistake.

Giggles and deep chuckles accompanied the sound of the door as it opened. The collected Company and family – including those recently returned from Dale – turned to see Fíli and Kíli following two flour-dusted children into the room. Bilbo’s jaw dropped. “What did you do?” 

“They decided to practice juggling,” Bombur announced from behind the four of them. The brothers appeared to repress a wince before turning innocent smiles on the royal chef. He snorted and waved a small soup ladle at them. “Don’t even try it, lads,” he advised. “If you were a decade or two younger I’d take a breadboard to your backsides.” He gaze moved to Merry and Pippin before shifting back. “Those two may have been doing the juggling, but they couldn’t have reached my flour sacks without some help, let alone creating the little bags they were tossing about.”

“They’d best consider whether they’re too old for me,” Dís announced as she stood from the table. Her sons paled and the other Dwarves, Bombur included, shifted away from the brothers. No one else had any intention of being caught in the backlash of any punishment their unhappy mother might decide to dole out. “In the meantime,” she continued, pinning her boys with a sharp look, “you can help get the little ones cleaned up.” The two of them nodded before they each snatched up a young Hobbit – Fíli picking up Merry while Kíli lifted Pippin – and moving towards the bathing room. Dís cleared her throat and they glanced back at her. “They are to be cleaned to _Bilbo’s_ standards.”

Kíli grimaced, but Fíli gave him a hard nudge in the ribs. “Yes, mother,” the eldest agreed and then left at speed, holding Merry in one arm while dragging his younger brother away with his other hand.

Snickers broke out around the table and Bilbo turned a gimlet eye on the chortling Dwarves and giggling Hobbits. “And would you like to be assigned to the same chores as Merry and Pippin are going to be?” The other Hobbit youngsters sat straight up, eyes going wide as they began shaking their heads. “Well?” he demanded.

“No, sir, Mr. Bilbo!” “No, Uncle Bilbo.”

“Good.” Giving the children a decisive nod, the older Hobbit turned towards the now bewildered Dwarves. “Merry and Pippin are about to find their free time curtailed for the foreseeable future as they will be doing any chores I can find for them, including helping in cleaning the kitchens.”

Nori began a protest. “It was only-“

“Someone else’s property,” Bilbo bit out. “They will be helping keep the kitchens clean. Hopefully it will help them understand that nice things require work.” His gaze swept the table, focusing on Nori and Dwalin for a long moment before meeting Thorin’s eyes. “Bombur and I shall discuss it and he can keep me updated on how they are doing, or pick one of his staff to do it, but no one else is to interfere.”

Thorin nodded. “Hobbit ways are not ours,” he noted, his own eyes moving around the table, “but you are their guardian and the punishment does fit the crime.”

“My sons will be doing their own penance,” Dís added with a wry smile, lifting an eyebrow at Dwalin and Nori as well. “Perhaps you want to help them?”

Nori pulled back, all but tucking himself behind Dori. The elder brother rolled his eyes, but gave a small half-smile to Bilbo and Dís. Bilbo presumed that meant the wily Spymaster would be getting a word or two at home about teaching bad habits. Dwalin narrowed his eyes at the Hobbit and Lady before sitting back with a grumble about people overreacting. 

Estella slipped out of her chair and toddled over to the tall captain. She held her arms up and he swept her up into his lap without a second thought. “No worry, Mister Dwa’in,” she patted his beard. “I hep you when Merry and Pip hep Mister Bombur.”

Most of the table managed to hide their smiles as the burly Captain of the Guard all but melted at the lass’ words. 

Bilbo shook his head, bringing himself out of the memory and focused on Merilin once more. “And did this have anything to do with you and Tauriel suddenly deciding you needed to pay a visit to Dale along with Dwalin and Nori?” he demanded.

“No, it did not,” she demurred, though amusement danced in her eyes. “I can assure you that had I been in Erebor during that time, I would have been nowhere near the kitchen during the entire affair.”

“That does not actually mean you knew nothing about it,” he pointed out.

She gave him a bright smile. “Tauriel and I discussed getting a better feel for the layout of the city and the security situation. It is at the doorstep of Erebor after all. The new treaties mean the citizens of the city will retreat into the mountain in the case of an outside threat. We decided it couldn’t hurt to have the eyes of an Elf and a Ranger to look over the situation, particularly as both of us are trained in different forms of combat and infiltration.” She tilted her head in question. “I can tell you more if you would like?”

“Do not bother,” Bilbo chuckled. “It would likely go right over my head. I am more than happy to leave that kind of thing up to the Dwarves.”

“I think the world would be a much different place,” she mused, “if more people behaved like Hobbits.”

They finished their tea, the conversation drifting and moving through the various Dwarves and Hobbits. Bilbo relaxed into the familiar feel of sharing gossip with family and friends. It struck him as a little odd, how easy it could be to talk to her, but it also proved quite simple to share with her cousin. Perhaps it might be a family trait?

The door burst open and Merilin sprung to her feet, all but spinning to place herself between Bilbo and the whirlwind of energy barreling towards them. She sidestepped, a natural grace moving herself to safety as said whirlwind ran into him and bounced back. Bilbo rocked on his heels, a little out of breath, but still able to catch the approving glance Thorin gave to the Ranger before he had to focus on the excited young Hobbit in front of him.

“Uncle Bilbo! Look what Thorin made me!”

Frodo shoved his hand into Bilbo’s face and Bilbo could feel his eyes crossing as he tried to focus on the small gleaming something or other his nephew held up to him. He grabbed Frodo’s hand and lowered it so he could try and see the thing. The lad held a bead, bright silver and intricately carved it seemed. Small runes and designs covered the bead – all of them denoting a desire for the safety and the wellbeing of whosoever possessed it. He smiled at Frodo, “And did you thank Thorin for the gift?”

He nodded with bouncing enthusiasm. “Yes, sir, I did!”

“He did,” Thorin agreed. His eyes held a particular intensity as he eyed the small silver ball. “I know Hobbits lads don’t usually wear beads in their hair, but should you have cause to journey among our kind – here or back near the Shire – you might consider it.” Then he tossed another bead to Bilbo himself.

“Why?” Bilbo asked, snatching the bead out of the air. He had been considering a chain of some sort for Frodo to use, but Thorin seemed to be making a point.

“It marks him as a Dwarf-friend,” Thorin explained. “As does yours.” He shrugged. “It also denotes you as being under the protection of the line of Durin. Any Dwarf beholden, allied, or sworn to us could be called upon for aid.”

“Really?” Bilbo’s eyes widened and he glanced back down at the silver bead.

“Really,” Thorin offered one of his stronger smiles. “They would have you sign something agreeing to the type of aid they provided. Should they have need of something in return, they would send the voucher to me along with their request.”

Bilbo began to protest. “Oh, but I can-!” 

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted as he strode forward to place his hands on the Hobbit’s shoulders. “Let us do this. It is little enough in return for all you have done for us.”

Once more Bilbo opened his mouth in an attempt to reply, but Merilin spoke up. “That will be a blessed assistance come spring,” she pointed out. Both of the males glanced at her and she shrugged as she pulled Frodo towards one of the balconies. “Good or bad, however the Shire and Hobbiton have managed this winter, stone work and metal work will be needed. Why not have the Hobbits concentrate on rebuilding their gardens and orchards and let the Dwarves – the best of the craft masters – work on metal and stone?”

“Those beads would allow for aid to Bilbo and Frodo, but….” Thorin mused over the situation, considering it.

“We can give you letters in regards to the families of the other children as well,” Dís added from where she lingered at the door. She made her way into the room. “We wouldn’t want them being charged either.”

“The ‘families’?” Bilbo questioned, ignoring the chuckling Ranger beside him. “You might want to word that differently – limiting it to their household, or immediate family. You would still end up doing repairs at Brandy Hall, but if you use a Hobbit definition of family, these children are related to the majority of the Shire.” Dís blinked at him and he shrugged. “Cousins, second cousins, and thrice removed cousins.”

“Mahal,” she breathed out. She stared at him for a long moment before her laughter spilled out to mingle with Merilin’s. Then she gave herself a good shake. “Letters,” she repeated in a firm tone. “And yes, they’ll be specific to the children’s parents or guardians as agreed to by you.” He wrinkled his nose, but she shook her head. “I trust _you_. I don’t know the others.”

Bilbo gave her a sad look, but he nodded. Sometimes it would strike him from time to time over how the Dwarves of Erebor had been treated in their time of need. Had they made mistakes? Yes, Thror, Thrain, and Thorin…each of them made various mistakes, but they never took an army to someone else’s doorstep to make demand. They tried to reconquer their own lands or they worked among other peoples – they did not ask for handouts. And yet people called the Dwarves greedy. 

In Bilbo’s mind, only Dale and the descendants thereof had any business complaining about the Dwarves. 

“Very well,” he agreed. “I shall keep an eye on things.”

“And thus you fulfill your side of being a Dwarf-friend.” Thorin gave him a smug grin. “Watching out for our interests as well.” Dís nodded in agreement.

“Dwarves,” Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You might as well let people know travelers through the Shire are welcome to spend a night at Bag End before moving on. Frodo and I would be happy with the company.” He looked down at his nephew and ruffled his hair. “Wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah!” The small Hobbit lad jumped up and down. “Everybody comes to Bag End!”

The adults laughed as Bilbo wrapped an arm around Frodo’s shoulders and tugged the lad into his side. “Exactly, Frodo my lad,” the elder Hobbit agreed. “Everyone is welcome at Bag End.”


	8. Epilogue - Time to Go Back Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo, Merilin, and the Hobbit children say farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for this story, but don’t be surprised to see one-shots in the future highlighting adventures during the Hobbits’ time in Erebor. Hugs and kisses to all of you who stayed with me through the whole adventure.

“Do we have to go?” Frodo fussed as Bilbo helped to get their belongings stowed away. 

“Now, that’s enough, Frodo-lad,” Bilbo scolded him. “Don’t you think the others should be able to see their families?” The younger Hobbit pouted and sighed, but he nodded. “Good boy,” his uncle smiled. “Did you say goodbye to everyone?”

“Not Merilin,” Frodo chirped.

Bilbo laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Silly youngling! You know what I meant.”

“I said bye to everyone but Thorin.”

“Well go find him now so we can get that done,” Bilbo ordered and then watched with a fond smile as Frodo took off running, dodging around amused and tolerant Dwarves. He would miss Erebor and the welcome they’d found there. It made him uncomfortable sometimes – the way people looked at him like he was a hero out of a tale or something – but for the most part he thought them much more accepting than most of his neighbors back home. Still…he was a Hobbit and Hobbits belonged in the Shire.

Particularly now that they knew there was a Shire still waiting for them to return.

Thorin’s communications with his people in the Blue Mountains proved vital and fruitful when it came to the Hobbits and their worries for the people back home. Though the king made no mention of it to Bilbo until after he received news, Thorin sent word of the Shire’s troubles as soon as the Hobbits had arrived in Erebor. Dwarves and Rangers from the Ered Luin region combined forces and went to the aid of the Hobbits in the Shire. They had been met by Elves and more Rangers coming from the east. Between the two groups, the orcs and the wargs did not stand a chance. 

Thorin had brought the news to Bilbo as soon as it arrived by the strength of raven wings.

Although the Shire had suffered losses, Bilbo learned – to his great relief – that his luck as a member of Thorin’s Company remained strong: all of the parents of his Hobbit youngsters survived. What seemed to be an entire flock of ravens arrived with letters from the various family members – notes of thanks for the aid of the Dwarves and longer letters to Bilbo gushing with gratitude for saving their children. It warmed his heart, though he knew it would not take long before he would once again be ‘Mad Baggins’ in most minds. That did not matter. 

He saved the children…and they could all go home. That’s what mattered.

For the moment, Bilbo glanced around, watching as the various partings between Dwarf and Hobbit took place. 

_Merry and Dwalin_

“Bye, Mr. Dwalin,” Merry grinned as he wrapped his arms around the larger Dwarf’s neck. “Thanks for teaching me that escape move.”

“You remember it, right, lad?” Dwalin patted his back. “Tricks the Men every time. Then you do the disappearing trick you Hobbits are so good at and they’ll not find you again.”

“I’ll remember!”

_Pippin and Nori_

Pippin held a small packet up to Nori. “Thank you for letting me borrow,” lisped the youngster, but Nori folded his tiny fingers over the cloth.

“Those are for you,” the star-haired Dwarf insisted. He crouched down beside the tiny Hobbit. “You need to keep in practice, and I know you’ll be careful with them, won’t you?”

“Yup!” Pippin grinned.

“Good lad,” Nori smiled back. “Those are for emergencies and to help your family.”

Pippin gave him a serious nod. “And friends.”

“That’s right…friends always help friends.”

_Fredegar and Glóin_

“Don’t ever be afraid to turn down an offer, my lad,” Glóin reminded the young Hobbit as he helped him into the pony’s saddle. “If they really want to make a deal, they’ll try again.”

“And never take the first price because there’s always room for neg… negot…” Fredegar screwed up his face as he tried to remember the word.

“Negotiation,” Glóin nodded. “That’s right. You remember those two bits of advice and nobody’ll be able to cheat you.”

_Estella and Bombur_

“Tank you, Mister Bombur,” Estella smiled up at the royal chef as she waited for her Dwarf companion to be ready. She was too small to sit a pony by herself, so she would sit in front of one of the guards. For now she stood beside Bombur and leaned into his side. “My mama will like the tarts recipe.”

“Make sure you send me the recipe for cinnamon cake,” he reminded her.

She gave him a serious nod. “Mister Bilbo wrote a note,” she replied. “He gives to Mama and Mama sends the recipe.”

“I shall look forward to trying it.”

_Rosie and Bifur_

“And don’t worry, Mister Bifur,” Rosie chattered at the smiling Dwarf. “You and the others can come into the Dragon any time for a free ale.” She blinked over towards Bofur and then back. “But only one. If Mister Bofur acts at the Dragon like he did at dinner last night, my mama would take a broom to him.”

Bifur laughed and muttered something as he made a gesture with his hands.

Rosie watched and then nodded in understanding. “Exactly,” she smiled. “And that wouldn’t be any fun at all.”

_Sam and Bofur_

“Mark my words, lad,” Bofur hefted Sam into the saddle. “You take care of your friends and they’ll take care of you. Sometimes that means you have to do things that scare you or make you afraid, but you might be the only one that can help them.”

“Yes, sir, Mister Bofur,” the stout lad nodded. “Like you do for Mister Bifur?”

“That’s right,” the miner nodded. “And sometimes you have to make them do things because it’s good for them…you’ve got to find a way to convince them – even if they don’t like it.”

“Like Mister Bombur’s walks?”

“They’re good for him and he needs it. He does it to make me happy, so I tell him no one else will go with me. It works and that’s what matters.” Bofur grinned up at the Hobbit. “You remember that now.”

“I’ll remember,” Sam promised as his eyes moved around to find all of his friends. “I promise.”

_Frodo and Thorin_

“You’ve always got a place with us, young Frodo, remember that.” Thorin touched the bead in Frodo’s hair. 

“I’ll remember,” Frodo nodded, his serious blue eyes locked with the Dwarf king’s. 

Thorin knelt in front of Frodo and placed his hands on the young Hobbit’s shoulders. “Will you do me a favor, Frodo Baggins?”

“Anything.”

“Good lad,” Thorin smiled, but his eyes remained steady. “Take care of your uncle for me. I can’t be there to watch over him, so I am trusting you to do it.”

Frodo stood straight, his little chest puffing out. “I can do that, Thorin,” the young Hobbit promised in an earnest voice. “I’ll always take care of Uncle Bilbo.”

“Thank you, Frodo,” the king replied, his regal tone matching Frodo’s earnestness. “I knew I could trust you with this.”

Bilbo sighed as he listened to the two of them. Maybe it was a good thing they did not live too close. Thorin and Frodo might just smother him with concern. 

As he waited for the pair of them to reach him, Bilbo glanced around and spotted Dori still cooing over Diamond. He shook his head. Her parents were going to be so surprised at how much their little girl had grown…if they could tear their eyes away from the diamond bead braided into her hair. All of the children would be going back with gifts and beads sure to make give the gossiping hens fodder for a year or more. Bilbo shrugged. Dwarves…what could one do?

“You’ll be back?”

The quiet voice drew his attention towards the ponies. He spotted Fíli standing next to Merilin and realized the question had not been meant for his ears. Bilbo turned back to watch Frodo and Thorin, but he could not help overhearing some of the conversation between the two people behind him.

“I shall ask my cousin,” Merilin replied. “I think…” Her voice trailed off. “I think he will allow me to return…though he may send a message to Thorin first.” A small chuckle, tremulous but real followed that remark. “He can be…really quite protective in some ways.”

“I like him already.” Fíli remarked, his tone laced with humor. Then his voice grew serious once more. “I shall miss you.”

“And I, you,” came the soft reply.

The Hobbit closed his ears, refusing to eavesdrop any further. He hated farewells and goodbyes – sometimes they could be so heartbreaking. 

“Expect ravens on a regular basis,” Thorin warned him as the Dwarf king double checked the tack. “We won’t be losing touch again like this.”

“It did not turn out so bad,” Bilbo pointed out.

“No,” agreed Thorin, “but next time you’ll tell us about your worries and I can make arrangements. We’re glad you came and you’re always welcome to return – you and any of the youngsters.” He shrugged. “I would rather prevent all of you from suffering through the danger first – even if it means you don’t make the journey.”

And really – how could he argue with that?

It took them almost an hour to get away between all of the farewells and the tears of the youngsters. Diamond, in particular, took exception to being separated from Dori, but none of them liked leaving this place of safety – even if it meant going home to their parents. They finally set out and began the ride towards Thranduil’s halls in Mirkwood where Kíli would leave them. Bilbo stopped his pony and faced the mountain as he waited for the rest of the group to pass him – Merilin and Diamond first, followed by the rest of the Hobbits. Kíli waited beside him, giving him these last few moments. Finally everyone rode by them, even the Dwarven escort.

“We should go,” Kíli remarked in a quiet tone.

Bilbo turned his pony, riding away from Erebor for the second time in his life. He hated doing it; he felt so torn – between Erebor and Hobbiton, between the mountain of his adopted homeland and the hills of his birthplace – but he had more to worry about than himself and Frodo. An impulse prompted him to twist in the saddle, and take another look over his shoulder. Silhouettes at the top of the gate would be the last glimpse he had of the Company, save for Kíli. One of them near the center, Thorin he thought, lifted a hand in farewell. Bilbo returned the gesture before facing forward with deliberate determination. 

Would he ever see the mountain again?


End file.
